


the first step to find your way is to mark where you have been

by futuresoon



Series: first step [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Has A Palace, Dirty Talk But It's About Murder, First Time, Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Canon, Sadomasochism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuresoon/pseuds/futuresoon
Summary: “Mementos is gone, yes, and both the God of Control and his successor have withdrawn, but there is…a remnant, sticking to the other side like a thorn into flesh. With the power of a Trickster, it can be safely removed.”(Akechi’s got a Palace, sort of, and Akira’s the only one who can enter it. Now he just has to figure out what he’s supposed to do in a Palace with no Treasure and no Shadow--and if his tag-along even wants him to see what’s in there.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: first step [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861489
Comments: 204
Kudos: 1239





	1. Chapter 1

On March 15th, Akira sits on his old bed in his parents’ house, duffle bag discarded on the floor, Morgana sniffing the dusty furniture, and thinks, _I was probably just seeing things._

He wasn’t half-asleep. He wasn’t sick. There’s no actual _reason_ for him to think that he was seeing things, except one:

He’s just so tired of getting his hopes up over Akechi.

First he’d hoped the cute celebrity with a mysterious secret who called him fascinating and kept inviting him out wasn’t leading him on; that went sideways in an entirely different direction than the one he’d worried about. Then he’d hoped maybe there was a chance Akechi might not betray them, if he just tried a little more, if he was got just a little closer; that didn’t work out at all. Then he’d hoped if they changed Shido’s heart Akechi might have a less supernatural change of heart and turn out to actually be a good person all along; that was a disaster. Then he’d hoped once they changed Maruki’s heart Akechi would accept a prison sentence and go through normal rehabilitation and come out better, friendlier, conveniently in need of a support network and a place to stay; that, well. Yeah.

So excuse him for not believing that _this_ time the universe is on his side.

Morgana looks up from his examination of the dresser. “Wow, your parents didn’t clean this at all while you were away,” he says.

“They probably assumed I’d do it myself when I got back,” Akira says. Which. Seems like it will be the case, yes.

Akira stands up from the bed and dusts off the back of his jeans. He remembers cleaning up the attic on his first day in Leblanc, getting out a duster and a broom and starting the process of making the disused, drafty space into an actual living environment. It felt like the first step in a long, unpleasant journey into forced self-sufficiency.

Now he has to do it all again, and he doesn’t have the excuse that the area wasn’t intended to be lived in. He sighs. Starts walking to the hall closet where the cleaning supplies are kept.

Morgana follows at his feet, softly padding on the carpet. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it gonna be to live here?” he asks.

“Not _that_ bad,” Akira says. He opens the closet door, starts poking through it. “Maybe…four on a good day, six on a bad. And that’s more because of the boredom. There’s not a lot to do here.”

Morgana’s tail flicks back and forth. “You lived here for sixteen years and turned out the way you did,” he says. “This place can’t be _that_ boring.”

“Why does no one ever believe me when I say I’m not a very interesting person,” Akira says heavily. He locates a duster and pulls it out. Then an old, clunky vacuum that kind of needs some dusting itself. The cord trails after him while he carries it all back into his room; Morgana eyes it, occasionally twitching forward at it before returning to a dignified, sensible pose.

Akira leaves the vacuum by the door while he gets started with the duster. The pieces of cloth gently bat against the top of his old desk, brushing dust onto the ground. Morgana sneezes, rubs a paw over his nose, and hops up onto the windowsill overlooking the grassy plain behind the house.

“…so we’re really not gonna talk about what happened with the window, huh,” Morgana says, glancing back at him.

Akira starts to brush the duster over the top of his bookshelf. “Yep,” he replies.

“Even though seeing a reflection of your cognitive image in the real world is kind of a big deal,” Morgana says.

Akira moves onto the top layer of books. “That’s right,” he says.

“And even though you freaked out for like thirty seconds after you saw what might’ve been Akechi,” Morgana says.

Akira pauses between shelves and gives a thumbs-up without looking at him. “That’s the plan,” he says.

Morgana’s eyes narrow a little. “Are you at least gonna tell me why?”

Akira gives a brief and somewhat less gay summary of his reasons.

“Oh.” Morgana looks back out the window. “Okay.”

Akira cleans in silence for a while. The dust from the furniture settles onto the floor in a barely-perceptible drift.

“…we really should at least tell everyone, though,” Morgana says.

The furniture’s done; Akira drops the duster on top of his desk and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, Mona,” he says wearily. “Just because I know you’ll bug me about it for months if I don’t.”

“You’re very perceptive,” Morgana says primly, and hops down from the windowsill onto the bed, where he sits, tail twitching.

Akira sits down next to him and pulls out his phone. There were some new messages on the train that he’d looked at but not responded to; his mind was kind of occupied at the time. A few more have trickled in over the last hour or so; it’s been long enough by now that probably everyone’s dispersed. He starts typing out his own message, Morgana watching him intently.

 **Akira:** So I’ve got something to tell you guys  
**Futaba:** is it about how much you miss us already  
**Akira:** I mean yeah but also no, it’s important  
**Ann:** What’s up?

And Akira describes what he saw in the train window. All of it.

 **Futaba:** are you fr  
**Ryuji:** ??????  
**Akira:** I wouldn’t lie about this  
**Futaba:** hold on i’m gonna check the station cctv  
**Ann:** You can do that?  
**Futaba:** gonna find out  
**Makoto:** But the Metaverse was destroyed. That shouldn’t be possible.  
**Haru:** What does Mona think?  
**Akira:** He doesn’t know either  
**Yusuke:** I suppose it is possible the person you saw was merely wearing the Kosei uniform, but the weather today was hot enough that few students would wear the jacket.  
**Sumire:** Does this mean Dr. Maruki is doing something?  
**Akira:** I don’t think so  
**Akira:** He’s a cab driver now  
**Ryuji:** ????????????  
**Futaba:** okay got it  
**Futaba:** cameras don’t show any kosei jackets in the station around that time  
**Futaba:** definitely no akechi but also no jackets  
**Futaba:** so if you saw one of those and it’s not on camera then something’s up  
**Ryuji:** this is probably a dumb question but uh  
**Ryuji:** akira did you actually see akechi disappear in feb or what  
**Akira:** No  
**Akira:** He wasn’t there when we came out of the Palace so I just assumed  
**Akira:** He and Maruki both said he was gonna disappear I don’t think they were lying  
**Ryuji:** but you didn’t SEE it

What can Akira say? That he felt shitty for days afterwards and kept thinking over and over that there must have been a way to save him? That he only just came to terms with the fact that there was nothing he could have done, and now it turns out maybe all of that misery was a waste?

 **Akira:** No  
**Makoto:** So was he alive all along?  
**Akira:** I don’t know  
**Akira:** He seemed pretty convinced he wasn’t  
**Haru:** Perhaps he was wrong.  
**Ann:** Yeah but like if he came back wouldn’t he have tried to talk to us?

Akira breathes in, out. Doesn’t want to think about it. Has to think about it.

 **Ryuji:** lol no  
**Yusuke:** He was not the most sociable of us, it’s true.  
**Ryuji:** well i guess he kinda liked akira but yeah that’s it

 _I thought he kinda liked me too,_ Akira doesn’t type.

 **Futaba:** GUYS are you LISTENING  
**Futaba:** no jacket on the cameras!!! doesn’t show on recording!!! cognitive crap!!!  
**Futaba:** all kinds of weird stuff could be going on  
**Futaba:** maybe don’t immediately jump to ‘he’s a liar who hates us’???  
**Haru:** I would have thought that was an accurate description.  
**Haru:** I’m sorry, Akira.  
**Ryuji:** lollllllll

Akira decides to ignore Haru’s valid point and focus on Futaba’s.

 **Akira:** There probably is something going on but  
**Akira:** I’m really tired of all this bullshit  
**Akira:** It feels like every time I start to be okay after Akechi dies he just comes back and I have to deal with it all over again  
**Akira:** I kind of just want to let this one go  
**Akira:** I wouldn’t have even told you guys if Morgana didn’t make me

 **Ann:** Akira we love you but right now it’s you who’s bullshit  
**Futaba:** yeah get your head out of your ass dude  
**Futaba:** “oh weh weh i’m just gonna forget about the reappearance of the metaverse because i’m saaaad”  
**Makoto:** You may have to set aside your personal feelings on this, Akira.  
**Makoto:** What if this goes far beyond Akechi? It may be a sign that something dangerous is coming.  
**Haru:** I agree. This is not solely up to you.  
**Ryuji:** mona if he keeps being a baby about this just bite him

Morgana looks at Akira. Opens his mouth a little. Hisses.

 **Sumire:** Besides, I think Akechi-senpai would be upset with you if you ignored something like this because of him.

Akira remembers Akechi’s anger on February 2nd. How he’d seemed personally offended that Akira would even consider letting feelings get in the way of what was at stake.

Takes a deep breath. Types.

 **Akira:** Okay I’ll look into it with Morgana but I don’t know how much I can do anyway  
**Akira:** It’s not like I can call Lavenza  
**Akira:** And even if Maruki knew anything his phone number doesn’t work anymore  
**Futaba:** oh i can find maruki if you want him  
**Futaba:** i am insulted you would not think of this  
**Akira:** Okay go ahead but I really don’t think he knows anything  
**Yusuke:** We can examine the station, as well. It is not inconceivable there might be a clue there.  
**Akira:** Okay I guess I’ll just. Look at windows a lot  
**Makoto:** There must be something. It wouldn’t have happened for no reason.  
**Ann:** Let us know if you think of anything okay? Just because we’re not all in the same spot anymore doesn’t mean we aren’t still a team  
**Ryuji:** we got you dude, we can do this  
**Futaba:** phantom thieves, break!

Akira sits back on his bed and looks at Morgana. “There _are_ a fair number of windows in this house,” he says.

Morgana hops onto the carpet. “Lead the way, Joker,” he says.

One in this room. The view it overlooks is much more expansive than the crowded mish-mash of Yongen-Jaya, but there’s also much less in it. Mostly just grass and far-off mountains. A winding road at one side that leads back into town. The edge of the closest neighboring house. And definitely no masks or mysterious figures. Just countryside.

Before he gets very far towards the door, though, the newly-fallen dust puffs up around his feet and Morgana sneezes again. He really should vacuum first.

Morgana, it turns out, does not like the vacuum.

And _then_ he can leave, taking the vacuum and duster with him back to the hall closet, while Morgana follows him with flattened ears. The only other windows on the second floor are in his parents’ bedroom, and they’re not even home right now, couldn’t bother to welcome him. More countryside. A better view of the neighbors.

Downstairs, the living room, the kitchen, by the front door; nothing, nothing, nothing. Not that he really expected anything.

“Maybe it’s just _train_ windows,” Morgana says thoughtfully, while they stand by the genkan. 

“I don’t have a good explanation to tell my parents why I suddenly need to ride the train to Tokyo every day,” Akira says. “Or the money, for that matter.”

Morgana’s tail twitches. “Well, I don’t have any other ideas,” he says.

Akira considers. “Maybe it’s not windows, per se,” he says. “Maybe reflections?”

“Could be,” Morgana says, brightening. “Any mirrors around?”

“The bathrooms, yeah.” Neither of which is ideal for communing with the Metaverse--but at least he’s unlikely to be disturbed.

They try the first-floor bathroom first. The mirror there is smaller, older, needs cleaning. Nothing. Akira doesn’t get his hopes up for the second floor, even though the mirror there was a relatively recent purchase; and no, there’s nothing there, either.

They go back to his room. Akira sits down on his bed, sighs, looks at the floor.

“We could…wait for Futaba to find Maruki?” Morgana asks, resting back on his haunches.

“I guess,” Akira says. Not that he has high hopes for that, either.

“Until then…” Morgana looks around the room. “You should probably unpack, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Akira doesn’t really feel like getting up yet, though. Group chat pep talk or no, he’s kind of tired from the long train ride.

Morgana lashes his tail. “Well, _I’m_ not going to do it for you,” he says archly. “Drawers are hard.”

With some effort, Akira heaves himself off the bed. He might as well, anyway. It’s not like he has anything else to do.

\---

Evening comes with a slow sunset over the distant mountains. It’s pretty, much more picturesque than the Tokyo skyline, but Akira can’t really appreciate it.

His parents still aren’t home. The message they left for him this morning indicated that they’d probably be back late.

He’s sitting in the living room, not really paying attention to the background noise of the TV, when his phone buzzes again.

 **Futaba:** got maruki’s number  
**Futaba:** didn’t actually take that long but then there was this forum post and anyway  
**Futaba:** here you go

Akira taps the phone number she gives him. It opens up a call. Rings once, twice.

“Hello?” says a warm voice on the other end. Futaba got it right.

“Hey, Dr. Maruki,” Akira says. He could probably sound politer than he does, but he’s just so tired. “How’ve you been?”

“Kurusu-kun?” Maruki sounds surprised. “I’ve been well, more or less. Should I ask how you--ah, no, it was Sakura-chan, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah. Anyway, something happened today and I wanted to know if you know anything about it.” He tells him.

“Oh. Hmm. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.” Akira can almost picture the look of contrition on Maruki’s face.

“When you got out of your Palace, did you see anything?” Akira asks. “Anything out of the ordinary at all?”

“No, just the nearby street where I reappeared,” Maruki says. “I didn’t see Akechi-kun anywhere. And I haven’t seen anything unusual in a reflection, either.”

Akira exhales. “That’s what I figured,” he says.

“Kurusu-kun, may I ask you a question?” Maruki asks. It sounds like their old sessions together: friendly, welcoming, soothing. But of course those are long over now.

“Sure,” Akira says. Why not.

Maruki’s voice is so warm, so understanding. “Is it possible you were only seeing what you wished to see?”

Akira rubs his forehead. “I thought about that,” he says wearily. “But it wasn’t like I was thinking about him when it happened. I was just thinking about going home. And I wasn’t tired or sick or anything.”

“Sometimes these things creep up on us,” Maruki says. “Even if you weren’t specifically thinking of him, you were going home, you were leaving the city where all those fantastical things happened. I imagine it must be difficult for you to return to a normal life. Your subconscious easily could have brought forth imagery that would make you think there was still excitement to be had even now that you’re leaving.”

It sounds depressingly likely, doesn’t it.

“Maybe,” Akira admits. “I guess if a few days pass and nothing happens then I should probably assume that’s it.”

Maruki makes a sympathetic sound. “I know it isn’t easy,” he says. “But you will feel better soon.”

Akira hesitates. Maruki’s seen into his head; Maruki might not know _everything_ but he knows a lot more than the others do, at least. If there’s anyone he can say this to, it’s Maruki.

“…I really want to see him again,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Maruki says, painfully gentle. “And maybe you will. I can’t say for sure that my theory is true. But denying the possibility will only hurt you in the long run.”

Akira exhales. “You know, you were a pretty good therapist, all things considered,” he says. “Just maybe leave off the world domination thing.”

Maruki laughs, a little. “I’ve certainly learned my lesson on that front,” he says. “It was good to hear from you, Kurusu-kun. I hope whatever happens, this new stage of your life will bring you happiness.”

“Same to you,” Akira says, and is somewhat surprised to find he means it. “Good luck with the cab driver thing.”

“I’ll do my best. Goodnight, Kurusu-kun.”

“G’night.”

And he hangs up.

He glances over to see Morgana looking up at him from his seat on the couch. “You miss Akechi that much?” Morgana asks.

Morgana _hasn’t_ seen into his head. But he did see some of what happened on February 2nd. “Yeah,” Akira says heavily. “I do.”

He shouldn’t, probably. For a lot of reasons. But he doesn’t think Akechi’s a _bad_ person, not really, and--he genuinely did enjoy spending time with him. He’s allowed to miss that.

“Okay,” Morgana says, after a pause. “I guess that’s your business.”

“Yeah.”

They sit there for a while, the TV droning on in the background.

“When did your parents say they would be back, again?” Morgana asks eventually.

“They just said ‘late’,” Akira replies. “I’ve got school tomorrow, so I probably shouldn’t wait up for them.”

Morgana huffs. “Some welcome home,” he says.

“Morgana, on the scale of bad parenting we’ve heard about over the last year, my parents are _nothing,”_ Akira says wearily. “They’re just busy today, it happens.” It would’ve been nice, though, if they’d been here. Or maybe not nice, precisely, but something.

Akira gets up off the couch, stretches his arms over his head. “Might as well get dinner started,” he says.

Predictably, Morgana perks up. “What’re we having?” he asks.

 _“You_ are having your last people-food dinner for a while,” Akira says while he walks to the kitchen. “Mom and dad’ll be less tolerant of it than Sojiro. I can probably sneak you some of my lunch, but that’s it.”

“…is it too late to live with Fu--”

“Yes, Mona, c’mon. I’ll try to make it something good in honor of your sacrifice.”

\---

Evening fades into night. Dishes are washed and dried, the TV really doesn’t have anything interesting on, his school supplies for tomorrow are laid out, he takes a bath in the cramped tub, and then…there’s nothing else to do. 

_Maybe I’ll get a part-time job,_ Akira thinks. _The shopping district might have some. Even if they probably won’t be as interesting._

Which is a little unfair. But it’s not like he expects a small town to have an okama bar, anyway.

He gets into his sleeping clothes. Looks out the window, one more time. Nothing but a darkened landscape.

“Maybe we’ll find something tomorrow,” Morgana says, looking up at him from the carpet.

“Maybe.” Akira doesn’t really believe it, though. Maruki made a pretty good point.

He yawns and goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Even this feels a little strange after a year away; there’s a little more space, and the newer mirror has a clearer reflection. 

A reflection of a little girl with long blond hair and a blue dress.

Akira drops his toothbrush into the sink.

Lavenza bows. “Greetings, Trickster,” she says. “I realize that it has been some time.”

“Yeah, a little,” Akira manages to say, and then calls out, _“Morgana!”_

Morgana pads into the room with a “What?” and then stops, sees the mirror, stares.

Lavenza smiles. “Hello to you as well,” she says. “I would continue the pleasantries, but I suspect you are not interested in those.”

“Yeah,” Akira says, again. His heart is beating faster, there’s a rush in his mind. This _is_ real. There _is_ more. There’s--

“I can only speak to you now in moments of transition,” Lavenza says. “At the start of a journey, for example, or right before sleep. Your nature is that of a mirror, a reflection of those around you; and the reflection of a reflection can refract back into itself, providing a glimpse beyond reality.”

Akira understands precisely none of that, but that doesn’t matter. “I thought the Metaverse was gone,” he says. “It really seemed like it was gone, anyway.”

Lavenza smiles. “There is always something on the other side,” she says. “Or my master and I would not exist.”

Which is a fair point.

“The structure of what you know as the Metaverse is in a state of unrest,” she continues. “As it stands, it cannot transition into its next form until all it currently contains is undone. Mementos is gone, yes, and both the God of Control and his successor have withdrawn, but there is…a remnant, sticking to the other side like a thorn into flesh. With the power of a Trickster, it can be safely removed.”

Akira’s heart pounds in his chest. “Akechi, right?” he says. “It’s something to do with him?”

“Indeed,” Lavenza says. “Under normal circumstances, a death in the Metaverse would result in the person’s soul remaining there for a time, until either the cognition of their disappearance changes or the Palace is undone, after which they would return to the real world. But Goro Akechi died in the Palace of Masayoshi Shido, which did not disappear under normal circumstances.”

Shido’s temporary death was a pretty big problem, yeah--although it’s ironic to hear that they would have been fine. Or, well, maybe they wouldn’t have, actually, given what Lavenza is saying.

“The interference of Takuto Maruki returned him, yes,” Lavenza continues. “And it is likely he would have stayed in the real world, after that, were it not for cognition striking one final blow.”

Akira realizes what she means, and then kind of hates himself a little. Even though it wasn’t _just_ him.

“Akechi, Maruki, and I all believed he would disappear, didn’t we,” Akira says heavily. “So he did.”

Lavenza nods. “And so his soul became stuck, neither in this world nor the next,” she says. “This was…unusual, and thus it took my master and I some time to figure out where, precisely, he had gone. Today, we found him.

“It is not truly the Metaverse, but it is very similar. His own cognition of what the other world is supposed to be shaped into something he would recognize. A Palace, of sorts. Though a somewhat unusual one.”

Morgana speaks up. “Persona users can’t _have_ Palaces,” he says. “We checked to see if he had one, even. He didn’t.”

“The circumstances are indeed peculiar,” Lavenza admits. “From what we can tell, he does not truly have a Treasure, nor even a proper Shadow. There may be other differences as well. But it is a reflection of himself, and if it does not go away soon, the other side will…take measures.”

“…take measures like what?” Akira asks, uneasy.

Lavenza’s expression is very solemn. “Neither you nor Goro Akechi would like them, I think,” she says.

Akira doesn’t need the details, honestly.

“So we just need to get him out of there?” Akira asks. It’ll be hard to finagle getting everyone over here fast, but once the others know, they’ll make it work.

“Unfortunately, there is not much of a _we_ in this,” Lavenza says, shaking her head. “Only a Trickster has enough power to break through the barrier of the other world now. Your comrades cannot join you. Moreover, the circumstances for entering this Palace are not conducive to groups.”

Akira and Morgana share a look. “Even me?” Morgana asks.

Lavenza nods. “Even you.”

“Okay, so…if there’s no Treasure, and no Shadow, what am I even supposed to do in there?” Akira asks. Maybe he just needs to…find Akechi, or something. Do a dramatic rescue.

“You must reach the center of the Palace,” Lavenza says. “From there, I do not know. My master can only see so much.”

Akira breathes in, out. Okay. Not much of a plan, and no backup. 

And no options, either, if what Lavenza says is true.

But it’s not like it matters. There’s only one option he would take, anyway.

“How do I get in?” he asks.

“Not dissimilar to how you were often taken to the Velvet Room,” Lavenza replies. “Only think of the keywords, sleep, and you will arrive.” And she tells him what the key words are.

“Okay.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I just need to…do all of that. And then he’ll be okay?”

Lavenza nods. “He will return to your world unharmed and whole,” she replies.

God, that’s going to be hard to explain to his parents.

But that doesn’t matter. There’s only one thing that matters, and it’s getting to sleep as soon as possible.

Lavenza bows again. “That is all the information I can offer you,” she says. “If I learn anything, I will contact you again through this method.”

“Well…thanks,” Akira says. “I mean it. I’ll get him out of there, I promise.”

Lavenza smiles. “I am certain that you will. Goodbye, Trickster.” And her figure flickers and vanishes, leaving only his own reflection.

Akira looks at Morgana. Morgana looks at Akira.

“Brush your teeth first,” Morgana says.

“…fine.”

Teeth brushed, Akira falls into bed. Closes his eyes.

Thinks, _Goro Akechi, former Detective Prince. Heart. Labyrinth._

And everything slips into blackness, and the world falls away.

He opens his eyes to see…fog. He glances down at his clothes: the Joker attire. Does Akechi see him as a threat, still? Or is this some other blip in the structure of the Metaverse?

The fog ahead of him begins to fade. As it parts, a gigantic wall comes into view: black, smooth, featureless. Tall enough and wide enough that wherever it ends is obscured by the same fog.

Akira takes a step towards it.

“It _would_ be you,” says a very familiar voice, in a familiar disdainful tone.

Akira turns on his heel. More fog parts, and. There he is. In the school uniform, looking just as Akira remembers.

“Even here I can’t get a break from you,” Akechi says, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d be living a happy normal life by now. Still fixated on saving me, are you?”

Lavenza said Akechi didn’t have a Shadow. This one doesn’t have yellow eyes, either. So--

The things Akira wants to say get jumbled up in his throat. It’s all too big, too much. But this is the Metaverse, more or less, and some things come easier here, so he says, “…well, maybe if you stopped dying, I wouldn’t need to.”

“Like I had a choice in the matter,” Akechi says drily.

I _had a choice,_ Akira doesn’t say. _I chose the world over you. I don’t regret it, but for days I couldn’t stop thinking about if there had been some way to save you that I just hadn’t noticed._

_And even now I wish I’d been brave enough to ask you to stay the night._

It was easier, earlier, to think that he was better off not getting his hopes up. But actually _seeing_ Akechi, in person, indisputably--all the exhaustion fades into a cascade of butterflies.

An awkward silence descends.

“…so,” Akira says, trying to fill it. “Uh. How’ve you been?”

Akechi looks up at the featureless black wall. “I’m not sure I have,” he says. “Been, that is. I fade in and out. Mostly out. Sometimes it almost feels like I’m somewhere I know--my old apartment, or the police station.”

“Or a train station?” Akira interrupts.

Akechi gives him a strange look. “Yes, I think so,” he says slowly. “There was a crowd, and…I don’t recall much of it. Why do you ask?”

“I saw you there,” Akira says. “Through a window. That’s why I came looking for you.”

Akechi looks around the fog-filled area. “Well, you found me,” he says. “Now what?”

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Akira says. “This is your Palace, right? Lavenza said it was.”

“I was under the impression Persona users didn’t have Palaces,” Akechi says, giving him a dubious look. _“You_ don’t, I checked.”

Akira feels strangely flattered. “It’s kind of a long story,” he says, and tells it.

Akechi listens without interjecting. When Akira finally finishes, he says, “I hope you have more of a plan than that, because I’ve been here off-and-on for apparently a month and this wall hasn’t done anything yet.”

Akira does not have more of a plan than that. “I was kind of hoping the entrance would be more obvious,” he admits. 

“No Oracle or Mona to guide you this time, Joker,” Akechi says, raising an eyebrow. “This one’s all on you.”

“And _you,_ technically,” Akira says, narrowing his eyes. “Unless you’re just going to stand here forever and wait to die.”

Akechi gives a melodramatic sigh. “Very well,” he says. “We can examine the endless, featureless blank wall together, if you insist.”

They walk up to it. It doesn’t look like metal, exactly, or stone, or anything you’d usually make a wall out of. It’s just…black. No light reflects off it. It’s like if the concept of a void was a physical thing.

And _this_ is what Akechi’s heart is made of. Well, that’s encouraging.

But Lavenza did say that _he_ could get in here, so…

With no other ideas, Akira puts his hand on it.

In an instant, a large portion of the wall withdraws into itself with the sound of screeching metal. Where once there was an endless expanse, now there is a path forward, made of the same black material. Akira can’t see anything _on_ the path, just…a long way to walk. Fog obscures the far end of it, but it sort of looks like there’s a turn up ahead.

Akechi pinches the bridge of his nose. “It really is always about you,” he says bitterly.

“Actually I think kind of the point of this place is that it’s about _you,”_ Akira says. “C’mon, let’s go in.”

But the moment he takes a step onto the path, a wave of exhaustion hits him. He stumbles, puts a hand to his forehead.

“Joker?” he hears Akechi ask from somewhere. Or he thinks it’s Akechi, anyway; Akechi doesn’t usually sound worried like that.

Everything goes a bit blurry, and then black.

Akira opens his eyes.

He’s back in his room. Sunlight filters in through the window. There’s a heavy weight on his chest; he glances down to see Morgana curled up there. It’s a familiar sight, but it also feels more comforting than usual. Like this was the best Morgana could do for him while he was out.

“Well, this room’s not as drafty as your last one was, at least,” a voice says from somewhere nearby.

Morgana twitches. Akira turns his head sharply. 

Akechi stands by the window, looking at him from across the room. Still in his school uniform. Hand on his hip. Looking a little tired.

Translucent, and clipping slightly through the windowsill.

Morgana raises his head and says, muzzily, “Akira?” before he sees the same thing Akira does, and promptly makes a squawking noise and falls off the bed.

“Hello again, Mona,” Akechi says, looking down at the cat on the carpet. “I should’ve figured you’d stay with him.”

Morgana springs to his feet and quickly shakes his head, presumably to remove any remaining morning bleariness. “I thought it was supposed to bring you back normal!” he says. “Akira, what happened?”

Akira levers himself up into a sitting position. “I don’t know,” he says. “I was at the Palace, he was there, I found a way in, then I woke up. Lavenza didn’t say anything about this.”

“I don’t know either, for the record,” Akechi says. He lifts one hand, examines it. “I did wonder if I was a ghost of some sort. But I never thought I’d be the haunting type.”

“You’re awfully calm about this,” Morgana says, eyes narrowed.

Akechi shrugs. “Clearly neither of you is at fault here,” he says. “I don’t see the point in taking it out on you.”

But Akira remembers that Akechi spent a month thinking he was going to die, and didn’t show any sign of it at all, and spent years pretending to be polite and pleasant, and no one suspected otherwise, and highly doubts that Akechi’s being especially honest right now.

Then he remembers that he has school in an hour.

Just in time, the alarm on his phone starts to buzz; all three of them glance at it.

Akira takes a deep breath. Stands up. Turns off the alarm.

“I’m really hoping you’re invisible, because I have to go to school now and they’re not expecting a transfer student,” he says.

Akechi’s face contorts. “I have to go to _school_ with you?” he says.

“That or stay here and do nothing, I guess,” Akira says. 

“…fine,” Akechi concedes. “But you’re taking a nap as soon as you get home.”

Akira isn’t sure that’s how it works. But he’s not sure how any of this works, actually. Even the old rules of the Metaverse were a mystery, swathed in malicious obfuscation and guesswork. So what else is new?

Well. A new roommate, maybe.

_Mission start!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes references to suicide, suicidal ideation, child abuse, and the concept of sexual assault.

As it turns out, Akechi _is_ invisible.

To Akira’s parents, anyway; they test it with the very scientific method of “walk into the kitchen and cross your fingers”, and achieve the fortunate result of his parents not noticing a thing.

Besides their son. And their son’s cat.

“Welcome home,” his mom says, peering down at Morgana, who’s standing at Akira’s feet with the most respectful appearance a cat can muster. “You…didn’t mention you’d be bringing a pet with you.”

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission?” he says with a small, crooked smile. He really couldn’t risk the idea that they’d say no.

His dad sighs from the table. “Do you even know how to take care of one?” he asks.

“Morgana’s really well-behaved, it’s not gonna be an issue,” Akira says. “I brought all the stuff with me, you don’t need to buy anything.”

“Well, it’s your responsibility,” his mom says. The toaster dings; she takes out two slices and puts them on a plate, setting it down on the table before an empty chair. 

While his mom sits down and starts to smear on some butter, his dad lowers a mostly-eaten piece of toast onto his plate and says, “Did you get all your school supplies?”

Akira goes to a cupboard and nods. “I’ll need to pick up the textbooks at school, though, they wouldn’t ship them,” he says, opening the cupboard and taking out a bowl.

“Good,” his dad says, and goes back to eating his toast.

The rest of breakfast proceeds in silence. Akira pours himself some cereal, opens a can of tuna for Morgana--who eats a little more fastidiously than he usually did at Leblanc--and settles down to eat.

Mostly silence, anyway. “Your parents don’t seem to have missed you much,” Akechi says, from his position a few feet from the table.

Morgana looks up. “They called him,” he says defensively. “They’re just not the affectionate type. Like you’d even know.”

Akira’s a little touched that Morgana is defending his parents, but also a little worried that Morgana’s being antagonistic. “Stay quiet during breakfast, Mona,” he says, nudging Morgana slightly with his foot.

Morgana looks at him with a betrayed expression. Akechi doesn’t even try to stifle his laugh.

“I thought you said its name was Morgana?” his mom asks, looking up from her toast.

“Oh, uh, Mona’s a nickname,” Akira says. “He answers to both, it’s fine.”

His mom makes a vaguely approving noise and goes back to her breakfast.

Fortunately, Akechi refrains from making any more comments. Whether that’s from politeness, lack of things to say, or it not being as fun if no one can react, Akira’s not sure.

Akira quickly washes his dishes, and mentally crosses his fingers that his parents will never look when he’s putting stuff in his school bag; this proves useless, as his dad coincidentally glances over at the exact moment Morgana hops inside.

“You can’t take a cat to school,” his dad says in a disapproving tone.

“Morgana’s _really_ well-behaved,” Akira says, a little desperately. “And I did it all the time in Tokyo, no one even noticed. He, uh, gets bored when I leave him at home? And…becomes less well-behaved?”

His mom sighs. “Unless it’s been professionally trained, I doubt it’s _that_ obedient,” she says. “Leave it home.”

Fishing for some way to convince them, Akira says, “Uh, Morgana, go sit by the stairs and meow three times.”

Morgana gives him a begrudging look, but follows the command.

His mom and dad look at each other. “Where’d you get that cat, again?” his dad asks.

“He followed me home,” Akira says, which has the advantage of being literally true, even if it isn’t quite the full story.

“…fine,” his mom says. “But if your grades drop because it’s distracting you, it’s staying home.”

 _My grades actually kind of went up last year because of him,_ Akira doesn’t say. Instead he just says, “Thanks,” lowers the bag so Morgana can get back inside, and goes to put his shoes on.

He leaves the house without further incident, and then it’s just the walk to school, Morgana poking his head through the bag and Akechi walking next to him. One of these things is what he’s used to.

“I knew you came from a small town, but this really is very rural, isn’t it,” Akechi says, looking down the long, winding road into the main part of town.

“There’s suburbs and stuff,” Akira says. “My parents just live a little farther out.” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know if Akechi’s always lived in Tokyo. He’s not sure how to bring it up. Mentioning Akechi’s past seems kind of…fraught, potentially.

“I haven’t been out to the country much myself,” Akechi says, which sort of answers that question. “There were a few cases where suspects fled Tokyo, or witnesses who had only been visiting the city briefly, but nothing beyond that. I suppose I don’t have any particular expectations. But a place that produced _you_ must have _something_ to it.”

“That’s what I said!” Morgana declares from the bag, putting his paws up on Akira’s shoulder. _“He_ said something about not being interesting, which is just dumb.”

Akechi gives Akira a measured look. “Not that I’m especially fond of agreeing with Morgana, but yes, you’re very wrong about that. You almost had Tokyo in the palm of your hand, and you still think you’re ordinary?”

Ignoring Morgana’s indignant squawk, Akira says, “Yaldabaoth set that all up, not me. He could’ve picked anyone and it probably would’ve turned out more or less the same.”

Akechi gives a wry smile. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “From what you’ve told me, he planned for a very different outcome. _You_ were the one who disrupted all that.”

“Everyone else did a lot too,” Akira says uncomfortably. “I was just the guy with the really big gun.”

 _“And_ the apparently innumerable Personas,” Akechi says, raising an eyebrow. “You never did tell me how you got the ones that we didn’t see in a Palace.”

“Oh, well. Uh.” Akira explains.

By the time he’s finished, Akechi isn’t quite…glowering, exactly, but he doesn’t look too happy. “And here I was hoping you were just very good at hiding dozens of traumatic events,” he says drily. “You’re right, you _are_ boring.”

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry?” he says.

“How’d you get _yours,_ then?” Morgana asks. He looks a little snippy still. “If you can’t do what he does.”

“I don’t particularly wish to talk about that,” Akechi says coolly.

And to think, Akira once thought the walk to school was boring.

\---

School itself is exactly the way he left it: old, wooden, in need of repairs. After a year at Shujin, it seems painfully outdated. The other kids, too, are just how he left them: just as gossipy as the ones at Shujin, if not more so.

_“Is that Kurusu? I heard that Tokyo school kicked him out!”_

_“I heard he’s been running around with the yakuza!”_

_“I heard he was in jail!”_

But somehow, they don’t really seem to know the details of any of it. No one whispers about _why_ he might have gone to jail; no one mentions any specific crimes beyond the ones that obviously aren’t true. No one says they saw him on the news.

Only one person, a girl in his homeroom class, says anything even vaguely interesting:

“When you were in Tokyo, did you hear anything about the Phantom Thieves?” she asks, turning around in her seat to look at him.

He remembers her, more or less, but they weren’t really friends. Still, he doesn’t remember her being an especially active member of the rumor mill, either. “Yeah, a little,” he says. “Did the stuff about them make it all the way out here?”

She shakes her head. “Not really,” she says. “People talked about it a little last summer, but then it kinda went away. I just thought maybe you’d know something, since you were there.”

He smiles, a little. “They sounded pretty cool, didn’t they,” he says.

In the background, Akechi rolls his eyes.

Classes don’t leave much room for conversation with Akechi or Morgana. Neither of them seems inclined to talk about anything important when Akira can’t respond, and it’s not like Morgana can be a chatterbox during class either. Akira spends the first few periods of the day as a dutiful student, taking notes and listening attentively and pretending he doesn’t notice how everyone stares at him.

When the bell rings for lunch, though, Akira whispers under his breath, “I’m gonna get some bread at the school store and then we’ll go to the roof, okay?”

“Roger,” Morgana says with a nod. Akechi doesn’t say anything, but he nods too.

The roof hasn’t changed, either. He only came up here sometimes, when his friends were doing their own things and he didn’t feel like eating lunch in a talkative class, but it’s a familiar enough sight, even if it brings back a pang of memory for the early days of the Phantom Thieves. 

He settles down and tears open the plastic bag for his curry bread, tearing off a piece for Morgana, who eats it a lot less delicately than he did breakfast. Then he looks at Akechi, standing in front of him with his arms crossed, and says, “Okay, I guess we should talk about some things.”

“You _guess,”_ Akechi says drily. “I wonder what could have given you that idea.”

“So…” Akira sighs. “Let’s start with this: we should probably figure out what your limitations are, in reality.”

Akechi raises a finger and counts off. “Translucent, intangible, can’t be seen or heard by anyone but you or Morgana. I suspect that’s Persona users in general. I can walk on solid ground, but I phase through walls and objects. That’s all I’ve discovered, personally.”

Akira nods. “I’ll ask Lavenza about it tonight,” he says. “But if she didn’t say anything about it last time, she might not have any new information now.”

“And hopefully none of this will matter, because you’re going to finish my Palace today and everything will be fine,” Akechi says firmly.

Akira hesitates. “I…would like to say that that is definitely a thing I will do, but I have no idea how big your Palace even is,” he says. “There’s no map yet. And if I have to fight all the Shadows by myself, it might take a long time.” Something occurs to him. “Actually, have you tried summoning a Persona in there?”

“I have,” Akechi says. “Nothing happened. I assume it has something to do with why Lavenza said it wasn’t exactly like the normal Metaverse.”

“…yeah, so I’m on my own then,” Akira says wearily. “That’s gonna be great.”

Morgana finishes cleaning crumbs off his whiskers and says, “Did your weapons come with you?”

Akira shakes his head. “I mean, I didn’t actually check, but I didn’t feel any extra weight in my coat,” he says. “And I sold everything back in Tokyo, anyway.”

Akechi drums his fingers against his crossed arm. “Fine,” he says shortly. “I suppose if that’s the way it is, it can’t be helped.”

“I do _want_ to get it done as quick as possible,” Akira points out. “Lavenza didn’t give me a deadline, but she did imply there’d be one eventually. And also your situation kind of sucks and I want it to stop?”

Some type of emotion very briefly flickers across Akechi’s face.

Akira takes a bite of his bread and chews on it for a moment. Maybe he should’ve bought two, he’s pretty hungry. 

“…this might sound weird,” he says, “but can I call you Goro?”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “Why?” he asks.

“Well, you called me Akira a couple times on the last day in Maruki’s Palace,” Akira says. “You can keep doing that if you want. And if you do I’d like to call you by your first name, so.”

“…all right,” says Goro. He looks a little dubious.

Akira smiles. “Thanks, Goro,” he says.

“…you’re welcome, Akira?”

That probably shouldn’t feel as nice as it does.

Morgana’s looking hopefully at his bread again. Akira breaks off another piece and decides that yeah, he should get two from now on.

\---

The rest of the school day goes pretty uneventfully. It isn’t until Akira gets back home that he finally, _finally_ has enough time to safely message everyone about…everything.

 **Futaba:** so is akechi just like. there now  
**Akira:** Yeah he’s here  
**Futaba:** hi akechi  
**Futaba:** sorry we thought you were dead  
**Akira:** He says he thought he was dead too, it’s fine  
**Sumire:** It’s wonderful to hear that you’re okay, Akechi-senpai. :)  
**Ann:** Even if you’re not completely okay yet  
**Makoto:** Not to seem like I don’t believe you, Akira, but could we get a picture? Assuming he shows up in those.  
**Akira:** Uh let’s find out

**Akira has sent an image.**

**Yusuke:** The composition is unremarkable, but that does seem to be Akechi.  
**Ryuji:** duuude you’re all see-thru isn’t that weird  
**Akira:** He says it’s weird yes  
**Futaba:** hang on does that make this a spirit photo  
**Futaba:** are we all gonna get cursed  
**Akira:** I don’t think he’s technically a ghost?  
**Futaba:** booooo  
**Futaba:** oh i’m gonna send this to sojiro and see if he can see him  
**Sumire:** How are you adjusting to this, Akechi-senpai?  
**Akira:** Mostly by not talking about it  
**Akira:** He says he didn’t say that, I said that  
**Akira:** It’s true though  
**Haru:** How long do you think it will take you to complete Akechi’s Palace?  
**Akira:** I honestly have no idea  
**Akira:** Never had to do one solo before  
**Futaba:** sojiro says it’s just a pic of akira  
**Futaba:** should i tell him  
**Akira:** If you want  
**Ann:** Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help! I mean it sounds like there isn’t but you know  
**Makoto:** Yes, let us know if the situation changes.  
**Akira:** Can do

The conversation lulls, and Akira closes the app.

“It does seem unlikely that they’ll be able to do anything,” Goro says.

“Yeah, but they get antsy when there’s nothing they can do,” Akira replies. “And nobody likes being worried.”

Goro has a hint of a smirk. “I hardly imagine they’re _worried_ about me,” he says drily.

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, to varying degrees? I think Haru’s still a little iffy on it. But overall, yeah. Plus they trust me, and _I’m_ really glad you’re not dead, so.”

Goro just kind of looks at him.

“Have I not made that clear?” Akira says hesitantly. “Because I’m really, really glad you’re not dead.”

Goro sighs. “Your hero complex is acting up again,” he says.

Akira has the impression this conversation is just going to go in circles, so he says, “Fine, believe whatever you want. I’m gonna try to take a nap. Because I am your friend and I want you to be okay.”

Goro doesn’t respond to that. Morgana makes a sound that’s sort of like a snicker.

Akira tries to fall asleep, he really does. But he’s never been much of an afternoon napper, and after twenty minutes of tossing and turning on the couch he opens his eyes and says, “Okay, I don’t think that’s happening. Sorry.”

Goro doesn’t look surprised, honestly. “I expected as much,” he says. “You’re too much of a busybody to get tired during the day.”

“It might be risky, anyway,” Morgana points out. “Your parents might walk in and wake you up. Who knows what that’d do.”

“Guess I’ll just…get some homework done,” Akira says, sitting up on the couch and stretching his arms. “Or something.”

It’s weird studying in his old room again. No street noises, a desk rather than an unused booth. And of course he now has two people hovering over him, not one.

“Are you sure that’s right?” Morgana says, cocking his head from the other side of the desk.

“What do you know about calculus, anyway,” Akira says. He flicks Morgana in the forehead with one finger; Morgana yelps and puts on an affronted expression.

 _“I_ know some things about calculus,” Goro points out. “I already did most of my senior year, after all. Since I have literally nothing better to do than watch your every move, I suppose I could offer some advice.”

“Don’t put it like that, that’s weird,” Akira says, his face crinkling.

Goro shrugs. “I can’t interact with anyone besides the two of you, and I can’t touch anything, either. What else am I supposed to do? Go on a walking tour of your fascinating neighborhood?”

“I mean. It is pretty nice here. If you like grass.”

Goro exhales. “Perhaps,” he says. “If there’s really nothing else to do besides watch Morgana try to tutor you in a subject he knows nothing about.”

Two minutes of relative silence later, Goro walks back into the room and says, eyes narrowed, in an icy voice, “Apparently if I get more than fifty feet away from you everything starts to blur, so _that’s_ out.”

“Oh,” Akira says, dismayed. “Uh. Sorry?”

Goro pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not _your_ fault,” he says wearily. “It’s just…annoying.”

Akira sits there awkwardly. Goro’s situation really is _profoundly_ shitty, huh. And there’s not really anything he can do about it now.

“…calculus?” Akira offers, gesturing at the papers on his desk.

“…fine,” Goro says, and walks up to the desk, looks at the mess of equations.

Goro does turn out to be a better tutor than Morgana, even if it’s kind of awkward that he can’t write anything.

\---

The hours until nighttime drag.

But _eventually,_ it’s time for bed--and when Akira’s parents are already in their room, he goes into the bathroom and waits.

It only takes a second for Lavenza to appear.

Her eyes widen a little when she sees Goro. “Oh my,” she says. “I see the situation has changed somewhat.”

“Kind of, yeah,” Akira says, a little quieter than usual so his parents won’t hear. He’s pretty sure they won’t hear Lavenza. _Pretty_ sure.

“Hello again, Lavenza,” Goro says coolly. “I suppose I should thank you for setting this up, but the way things are right now is a bit…trying.”

Lavenza nods. “That is understandable,” she says. “I wish I had good news, but alas, my master and I did not foresee this, and I have no information on it to offer.” She taps her chin in thought. “Although…” she says. “Assuming that once you complete the labyrinth, he will be fully returned, it is possible that his situation will change somewhat with your progression.”

“That’s good, at least,” Akira says, glancing at Goro. 

“I suppose,” Goro allows. “Though we have a question on that front, as well. How large is the labyrinth?”

“I am uncertain of the exact size,” Lavenza says, “but it seems comparable to some of the others you have visited.”

“Smaller than Mementos, bigger than Kamoshida,” Akira says thoughtfully. “I guess that sounds doable. Or, well, it would be if I had everyone else with me.”

Morgana lowers his ears. “I wish I could help,” he mutters.

Akira rubs Morgana’s head a little. “I’ll manage,” he says.

“Anything else useful for us?” Goro asks. “Or are we still left to figure it out on our own?”

Lavenza shakes her head. “I’m afraid I have not learned anything since I last spoke to him,” she says. “Though if you have any further questions, I will be here.”

“Yes, that’s about on par with how things are going,” Goro says.

“Thanks, Lavenza,” Akira says, since it doesn’t seem like Goro will. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Lavenza bows, and her figure vanishes from the mirror. 

“Well.” Goro gives Akira an expectant look. “Go ahead and finish things up, I’ll wait in your room.”

 _Two months ago I had a very specific fantasy that started with you waiting in my room,_ Akira doesn’t say, and nods.

When he’s finally ready, Akira settles down into bed. Goro stands a few feet away; Akira looks up at him.

“See you on the other side, I suppose,” Goro says.

Akira gives a thumbs up. “See you,” he echoes. Morgana hops onto the bed and curls up on Akira’s chest.

_Goro Akechi, former Detective Prince. Heart. Labyrinth._

The world falls away.

\---

Akira awakes outside the labyrinth.

The view hasn’t changed any--fog, black wall, path leading farther inside. Goro stands next to him, no longer translucent.

“Let’s get a move on, Joker,” Goro says, and starts walking inside.

The labyrinth is completely silent. All the other Palaces Akira’s been in were riotous with color, cognitions, patrolling Shadows, set pieces. This is just a long, empty path, with no indication of what else might be found inside.

Maybe there is nothing else. Maybe it’s just one big labyrinth, and the worst danger they’ll face is getting lost.

But that would probably mean Goro thinks his heart is empty, so Akira’s not really a fan of that idea.

Eventually, the path turns. Still nothing but floor, walls, and fog.

If only to break the silence, Akira says, “What’s the last thing you remember from Maruki’s Palace?”

“Stepping out of that ridiculous helicopter,” Goro replies. “After that, everything faded. At the time, I thought…” He trails off, but then he smirks and continues. “I thought it was appropriate that none of you were even looking.”

“I looked afterwards,” Akira says quietly. “I wasn’t exactly happy when I realized I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“It’s for the best, really,” Goro says. “I’m sure you all would have been so dramatic about it. This way, I was spared all that.”

 _He thought his last moments were of nobody noticing he was gone,_ Akira thinks. _And he was fine with that._

The path turns once more, and suddenly: something, at least, appears.

A dead end stretches up into the fog, blocking their way. But in front of it is a brightly-colored set, topped with the metal bars and wires of studio lighting. On one side stand two podiums, one red, one blue, with a golden one on the other side, the first two with a small screen on the front. The wall behind has a large screen, currently black. In front of it all, Shadows in casual clothing mill around a camera setup. Some have clipboards, some are talking into phones; none are wearing masks.

One of the Shadows with a clipboard looks up at them. “Finally!” she says. “The show’s about to start, get to your places!”

The other Shadows turn to look, and the conversation buzzes into action as everyone gets into their own positions. One Shadow, dressed in a bright yellow suit, stands behind the golden podium.

Goro turns to look at Akira. “A quiz show, I think,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “Let’s get it over with.”

None of the Shadows seem hostile as Akira and Goro make their way up to the set. The one who first noticed them waves them impatiently towards the podiums, almost pushing Akira to the red one and Goro to the blue.

The Shadow in the yellow suit straightens his lapels and says, “About time you two showed up. Kids these days.”

A Shadow behind the camera calls out, “Live in 3…2,” counting down with raised fingers, and ending with a silent _one._

From nowhere, exuberant music plays, followed by canned applause. 

“Welcome back, everyone!” the host Shadow declares, in a much louder and more cheerful voice. “We’re coming to you live with the latest episode of everyone’s favorite show! Which of our lucky contestants will prove their knowledge? Who is smart enough and brave enough to open the way forward? Thrills, chills, and a test of will await them in this episode of…”

The host flings his arm out towards the screen, which lights up. Where once it was black, now it holds an image of a young boy with brown hair, holding the hand of a black female silhouette in a skirt.

_“…What Do You Remember About Your Mother?!”_

Even louder applause and cheering fills the set. Goro stiffens. Akira feels deeply uneasy.

“I’m sure you all know the rules, but let’s repeat them for any new members in the audience!” the host declares. “We’ll start with one contestant and one question. If they answer correctly, they receive a point and move on to the next question. But if they get it wrong, the next question goes to the other fellow! Why, it’s possible for one contestant to carry the whole thing, if they know their stuff.” He gives an exaggerated wink, and the fake audience laughs. “The first contestant to get ten points is the winner! We play a fair game here, folks; it’s not actually possible to _lose._ But the more questions are asked, the more info must be shared!”

Goro takes a deep breath and turns to Akira. His eyes are very cold. “Just let me handle this, and we’ll move on,” he says.

Akira nods. It’s not like he even knows anything about Goro’s mom; he’s not sure what the host expects him to say.

“Let’s start with the man himself, Goro Akechi!” the host says, to wild applause. “Just a softball to get you started.”

Matching words appear on the screen, in big bright yellow letters, as the host says, cheerily, “How old were you when your mother died?”

“Seven,” Goro says. His voice is perfectly even.

“Correct!” The crowd cheers; on the small screen of his podium, a red digital 1 appears. The image on the large screen changes, replacing the female silhouette with a tombstone with a couple dates on it that line up with what Goro said, and the young boy going from standing facing the camera to sitting on the floor with his face buried in his knees.

“So young, so young!” the host cries. “She could barely stand you for that long! Really, I don’t know why she didn’t do it sooner!

“The second question! How’d she do it?”

Akira sees Goro’s fingers clench on the side of the podium. “She slit her wrists,” he says.

As the crowd cheers and the host yells, “Correct!” the image on the large screen changes to a bathroom, cramped, cracks in the wall and a roach on the tiles, with a bath mostly covered with a black censor bar. Not covered are the black fingertips hanging at the bottom, dripping blood into a large puddle on the floor.

“There was so much blood, wasn’t there? You didn’t even know what had happened! It took you a few hours to work up the courage to ask a neighbor for help, and by that time all the blood had congealed!”

The number changes to 2.

“Question three! What was the last formal job she ever had?”

This one takes Goro a moment to answer. His mouth twists in concentration. “Convenience store clerk,” he finally says.

“Correct!” Cheers, applause, an image of the female silhouette in a striped apron and cap, kneeled on the ground before a male figure in the same uniform, white tears falling from her featureless face.

“She never told you why she quit, did she? And if you don’t know, neither do we! But she always complained about her boss, and sometimes when she came home she’d cry for hours!”

3.

“He’s on a roll, folks! Maybe we should amp up the difficulty? Question four! What were the final words she said to you?”

Goro opens his mouth to answer. Pauses. His eyebrows furrow together. “I…I don’t remember,” he says, finally, sounding bewildered. “I used to know. I just--haven’t thought about it in a while.”

A buzzer sounds, the audience boos, and the host shakes his head. “Incorrect!” he says. “That one wasn’t _that_ hard, surely? You used to think about it all the time! You even wrote it down in one draft of the speech you were planning to give to Shido when you told him the truth! How sad that you’ve forgotten!”

The image changes to the female silhouette standing over a sink, hands pressed to the edges, the boy standing in a doorframe in the background. “The _correct_ answer is ‘Go to sleep, Goro-chan. I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.’”

Through it all, Akira hasn’t been sure what to look at. It’s hard to avoid the large screen, but it doesn’t feel…right, seeing those images. He’s positive Goro doesn’t want him to. But looking at Goro doesn’t feel right either; at the start he was composed, but it’s been dropping with each answer. It’s discomforting, seeing him like that.

And right now, Goro is looking at Akira, and his face may be blank but his eyes burn with tension.

“Perhaps our second contestant will have more luck! Question five! Did his mother love him?”

 _How the hell should I know?_ Akira doesn’t ask. But--well, there’s only two answers. Fifty-fifty. He takes an optimistic shot in the dark. “Yes,” he says.

 _“Correct!”_ Through the applause, the image changes to the female silhouette hugging the young boy. His face is not visible. Hers is crying.

Akira’s screen reads 1.

“Not that that seems to have changed anything, in the end!” the host says cheerily. “Sometimes love just isn’t enough, right folks?” Applause, applause. “Who even needs it? It’s never been any help!”

Akira glances at Goro. His face might as well be a mask, blank, unmoving--but Akira’s close enough to see his white-knuckled grip on the podium.

“Question six! What was the food she made for him the most?”

Goro hisses under his breath, “Flub the answer and make it my turn again, I can end this faster.”

Not that Akira really knows what the right answer would be, but it’s a good strategy for if Goro misses again. “Coffee,” he says.

Buzzer, booing, headshake. “Incorrect! Are you even trying? Omelet rice, of course! She drew stars on it with ketchup! But she made it less and less, and eventually stopped cooking at all!”

The image changes to a top view of a trash can sloppily lined with a plastic bag. Inside is a dried-out, half-empty bottle of ketchup and a carton of eggs, only a few missing, the rest cracked and rotten.

Everything about this puts Akira’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t _want_ to know any of this, and clearly Goro doesn’t want him to know either; the sooner they can finish, the better. But Goro only has three points. He’ll need seven more questions to win, and every time he messes up adds another one.

“Back to contestant number one! Question seven! What did your mother look like?”

Goro gives the host an unimpressed look. Opens his mouth.

Doesn’t say anything.

Seconds drag on and on. The mask falters more and more, little cracks at the slight widening of his eyes, the tiny press of his eyebrows. “…I don’t remember,” he says. “How do I not remember?” A little crack in his voice, too.

The buzzer and the booing crowd seem even louder.

“I’m so sorry, but that’s incorrect!” the host declares, not looking sorry at all. “She looked just enough like you that it’s no wonder Shido saw through you so quickly! But not _exactly_ like you, no! The traces of your father’s face grow stronger every year, and maybe one day there won’t be any of her left in you at all!”

The image changes to a mirror showing the female silhouette and the young boy. But this time, the boy’s face is a black silhouette, too.

Akira _hates_ this. But cognitions have rules; there was no way to steal the letters of introduction, there was no way to reach the manager’s floor without coins. It seems almost guaranteed that if they want to progress in the labyrinth, one of them will have to win this horrible game.

But. They got the coins for the manager’s floor a lot faster than Sae’s Shadow expected them to, didn’t they. Cognitions are bound by rules, too. And didn’t the Shadow with the clipboard tell them to hurry up?

Akira puts on a dazzling smile and says, “Wow, this is taking a lot longer than I expected! I hope there’ll be enough time left for the commercial break!”

The host gives an exaggerated gasp. “Why, you’re right, contestant number two! We can’t disappoint our sponsors!” He taps his chin, puts on a thoughtful expression. “Perhaps we could speed things up _just_ a little.”

Akira breathes a small sigh of relief. He glances at Goro, who doesn’t look…grateful, exactly, but at least a little less like he’s a few steps away from doing something drastic.

“And since it’s your turn…let’s raise the stakes! Contestant number two! The next question is worth _nine_ points!” The audience gasps. “If you get it right, you’ll win right away! But if you get it wrong…” The host waves a finger at him. “Both of you will lose all your points, and the game will start over!”

Akira freezes. Oh, that’s--that’s bad, actually.

All he knows about Goro’s mom is the small amount Goro’s told him. Maybe the question will cover that? Probably it won’t.

“Get this right, Joker,” Goro says in a polite voice forced through clenched teeth.

“…I’ll do my best,” Akira says weakly.

“Question eight! Does he blame himself for her death?”

God, Akira doesn’t want to know the answer to that.

He definitely doesn’t _already_ know--Goro only told him a little, and it was more ‘melancholy’ and less ‘actively depressing’. He looks at Goro for a clue--

And a curtain falls between them, cutting off his view entirely.

“No cheating, now!” the host declares.

Akira swallows.

Okay. All the other answers have gone in a distinctly unpleasant direction. This one probably isn’t any different. He _wants_ it to be different, but--even the optimism he tried for earlier got twisted. There’s really only one likely answer, isn’t there.

“Yes,” Akira says, in a calm, clear voice, and kind of hates himself for it.

Bells ring out. The crowd goes wild. _“Correct!”_ the host roars. The number on Akira’s screen changes to 10 and starts to flash.

The curtain withdraws. Goro is looking away from him, arms crossed, fingers digging in.

The image changes to just the young boy. His face isn’t black anymore, but the features are still gone, and in his chest is a gaping black hole, dripping black liquid down his clothes and onto the floor.

“The neighbor who took you in for a few days said it wasn’t your fault, and the police officer who asked you questions said it wasn’t your fault, but you knew better! If she’d never had you, she would’ve lived a happy, normal life! Most of the time she was nice, yes, but when her _real_ thoughts came out you knew the truth! It’s a wonder she didn’t take her with you to spare the world from such a worthless child!”

The host’s arms spread wide, his eyes crinkle in what must be a smile. “Congratulations!” he cries. “Contestant number two has won the game! The two of you may now progress!”

Suddenly, all of the Shadows explode into black, dissipating in the air. The camera, lighting, walls, podiums, and even the floor all sink down like they’re falling underwater, leaving Akira and Goro standing on the same smooth black ground as the rest of the labyrinth.

With an unpleasant screeching sound, the dead end retracts into the walls, and the next part of the path is revealed.

Akira looks ahead, then glances back at Goro, who still isn’t looking at him.

Should he…say something? Or would it be better not to?

Goro’s head turns sharply to look at Akira. “We’re not going to talk about this,” he says, and his face and voice are so carefully controlled that Akira absolutely knows it’s fake.

“Okay,” Akira says. He’s not really sure how to bring it up, anyway. _So, you really underplayed how much your mom’s suicide affected you and also you hate yourself a little? Well, I’m a great listener!_

Goro exhales. “Good,” he says. “And if anything else like that happens in this place, we’re not going to talk about that either.”

“Got it.”

“Let’s just get moving.” And with that, Goro starts down the path. Akira follows.

The air is filled with a terse silence. Goro’s walking ahead of him; Akira can’t even see his face. With a slight amount of effort, he catches up, and glances at that blankness again.

“Weird how we haven’t met any demons yet, huh,” Akira says, in an attempt to have any effect, at all, on the chilly atmosphere.

“It is odd, yes,” Goro says, and his voice isn’t quite relaxed, but it’s at a more normal level of tension. “If what Lavenza said is true about there being no Treasure, perhaps my subconscious doesn’t feel the need to protect anything.”

“Wait, you don’t _know_ if that’s true?” Akira says disbelievingly. “Shouldn’t you be able to tell if there’s a Treasure here? It’s your Palace, dude.”

“I didn’t even know how to enter it, before you showed up,” Goro says, his eyes narrowing. “Nor the layout, the Shadows, or whatever other psychological displays will undoubtedly get in our way. It may be my Palace, but I don’t know a thing about it, so don’t be so surprised.”

Akira thinks about how Palaces are all about metaphors, and has an uncomfortable suspicion what this particular aspect symbolizes.

“Fair enough,” Akira says. “It’d be kind of weird stealing your Treasure, anyway. The usual reaction isn’t very…dignified.”

Sobbing, begging for forgiveness, declaring suicidal intent; it’s a lot easier to watch someone do that when you don’t like them. The idea of seeing Goro go through that doesn’t rest easy in Akira’s stomach. 

Besides, the other guys definitely deserved it, but Goro--

Akira doesn’t want to go down that line of thought.

“Yes, I’d rather not experience that myself,” Goro says drily. “For all the good it would do, anyway, if Shido’s already in prison. I’m sure the public is satisfied with what justice has been done.”

“I’m not sure the public even remembers you,” Akira says. “I searched your name a couple times and there weren’t even any articles about your disappearance. People just kind of…stopped thinking about you, I guess.”

Goro exhales. Puts his hands in his pockets. “Probably for the best,” he says. “I was only ever using fame as a tool for my revenge, I didn’t actually enjoy it that much.” He pauses. “Although this does raise the question of if the _government_ still remembers me, or if I’m now without identification in addition to a job and a home.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually,” Akira says. He fiddles with a lock of hair on his forehead. “Futaba can probably set you up with whatever system stuff you need. And my parents would probably object to a mysterious roommate, but, uh…Sojiro’s still got that attic.”

Goro gives him a withering stare. “I’m positively _overjoyed_ at the idea of surviving on your scraps,” he says icily.

Akira shrugs. “If you think you can do all of this on your own, go ahead,” he says, which he absolutely does not mean. “But I really think this whole situation isn’t something you can get out of without help. You’re just gonna have to deal with that.”

Goro takes a deep breath. “I’m aware,” he says quietly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

Akira tries to imagine what all of this is like, for Goro. Being completely dependent on one person for your own survival, and with an uncertain future ahead. It’d be hard on anyone, but maybe worse for someone who has issues with not being in control of their life.

He realizes, abruptly, that Goro didn’t really get a one-month break from the bullshit, he basically went straight from February into…this. It’s literally been _months_ since he’s had any measure of control over what happens to him.

Or maybe even longer, in some ways.

“Well, no worries,” Akira says. “For now, let’s just keep getting farther in. We have to do that before we can do anything else, anyway.”

“Indeed,” Goro says, just as they round a turn, and another dead end comes into view.

It’s not quite like the last one. For one thing, the wall doesn’t actually look like a dead end, precisely; there’s a set of gray double-doors in the middle of it. Akira can’t quite tell what’s beyond them yet. But whatever it is, it’s in their way.

Through the doors, he can faintly hear thumping music and the unintelligible noise of a crowd.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Goro says grimly, and they open the doors to move through.

Inside is a long concrete room, the walls marked with a pair of red and black stripes stretching across the middle. Large, black and white boxes on wheels are scattered on each side, interspersed with folding chairs. Fluorescent lighting buzzes from the ceiling. The only other accoutrements are a few closed doors--and at the end, a wide black frame, covered by a black curtain. The noises, louder now, seem to be coming from behind it.

One of the side doors opens, and a stocky male Shadow in a gray suit steps out. “You’re almost late, kid,” he says irritably. “Get ready, you’re on soon.”

Akira isn’t sure which of them he’s referring to--but then another door opens, and an actual kid walks out. The kid’s maybe ten or eleven, a little bulky for his age, wearing jeans and a shabby white T-shirt with some logo on it that looks vaguely like it might be from some children’s anime. Yellow eyes. He looks over at Akira and cracks his neck. 

“You too,” the Shadow in the suit says, looking at the kid, and Akira realizes he probably did mean one of them, the first time. “Show’s starting.”

“Whatever,” the kid mutters, and parts the black curtain, walks through.

Through the few seconds before it falls closed again, Akira can see a platform of some kind, and a wide, roaring audience.

The music and the crowd grow louder.

An announcer from somewhere cries out, “Entryyyyyy number one! Young, spiteful, and desperate to not be on the bottom of the food chain! A representative frommmmm…the Tokyo Boys’ Home!”

Akira glances at Goro. His lips are pressed together, his posture rigid.

The Shadow in the suit waves them over. “Come _on,”_ he says, grabbing Akira’s arm. “Seriously, you’re not even in costume yet? Get with the program, kid.”

Akira’s center of vision drops considerably.

He stumbles, suddenly unsteady, and when he glances down he sees that the rest of him is smaller--and the Joker outfit has disappeared, replaced with a grubby blue T-shirt, a pair of jeans with one hole on the knee, and scuffed-up sneakers.

Goro looks _horrified_ as Akira looks up at him, and Akira has a sudden suspicion of what this represents.

 _“Go,”_ the Shadow snaps, and shoves Akira through the curtain.

He stumbles out onto a wide platform, lights flashing all around him. As he holds one arm over his forehead to try to see better, he gets a look at the rest of the room: tall rows of bleachers on all sides, holding hundreds of Shadows shouting and stomping their feet, and in the center, a raised square platform lined with four poles holding up several strings of rope. On top of the raised platform stands the kid, staring down at him with a smirk and crossed arms.

“Entryyyyyy number two!” the announcer calls. “…eh, some kid, who cares.”

The crowd boos. Akira has a pretty good idea what’s expected here; he walks up to the platform, head held high and shoulders straight, and climbs up onto it, past the ropes. 

The kid cracks his knuckles. “You ready for this, you little baby?” he says with a sneer. “I’m not gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you’re new.”

Akira cocks his head, grins sharp and sure. “Don’t act like you’ve already won,” he says. “I’ve got it on good authority I’m pretty hard to beat.”

“The rules!” the announcer cries, then stops. “Well, there aren’t any,” he says in a conversational voice. “Do whatever you want, it doesn’t matter in the long run. _Begin!”_

Akira shifts on his feet, ready to dodge whatever the kid tries--but in a second he realizes that all the Metaverse acrobatics are gone, and in the next second the kid punches him in the stomach so hard it shoves him into the net.

The breath rushes from his lungs as he chokes; he tries to steady himself onto his feet, but suddenly a gnawing ache rises in his stomach, makes him double over. It’s a familiar sensation, though not one he’s felt often--the strength-sapping pangs of Hunger.

“You weren’t eating that, right?” the kid says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Skinny little baby like you doesn’t need a lot of food anyway.”

“At the Tokyo Boys’ Home, the name of the game is power, and the only way to get it is to take it from those even less fortunate than you!” the announcer cries. “You can’t do anything to the adults, but the other kids? You don’t need to leave bruises to show them who’s in charge!”

The boy runs forward, grabs him by the hair. Punches him in the face, sending a shock of pain through his cheek.

“Although bruises are also a valid tactic, of course!” the announcer says cheerily, and the audience roars with approval.

He wants to fight back, but he’s so _tired._ Everything hurts and it feels like he hasn’t eaten in days--it’s easier to just let the older kid do what he wants. He’ll stop eventually, and maybe there’ll be something left in the kitchen if the others didn’t get it already.

Oh. Oh, those aren’t his thoughts, are they.

The kid wraps an arm around his neck, gets him in a chokehold; he struggles to pull the arm away, but to no avail. “And don’t you _dare_ try to tell the old lady again,” he hisses. “I’ll fuck you _up._ Got it?”

When he doesn’t respond, the kid squeezes harder and growls, _“Got it?”_

“Got it,” he rasps.

“Good.” The kid lets go of him, drops him to the ground; he wheezes, rubs at his throat. Tries to breathe. Tries to remember where he is, who he is. It helps, a little, that he can see his normal bangs still, but during the fight they didn’t really seem to register.

 _“Winner!”_ the announcer screams, and the audience goes wild.

Through the deafening cheers, the kid smirks at him one last time, waves at the crowd, and hops down off the platform. Akira glances around--he doesn’t see Goro anywhere. Is he still backstage? That’s probably for the best. But it’s hard to see with all the lights.

The Hunger fades. Akira gets back to his feet. Was that it?

His center of vision rises a few inches.

He looks down--a few years older, maybe. Gray long-sleeved shirt with a sewn-up tear on the collar, ratty jeans a little too big for him. 

“Entryyyyyyy number three!” the announcer yells, and Akira turns to look back at the curtain.

Through it walks a yellow-eyed middle-aged man, wearing a brown suit and tie. “A man with a spare room and a need for easy money to pay off his drinking habit!” the announcer cries. “With a job he hates almost as much as his wife, why _wouldn’t_ he need to take out his frustrations sometimes? Iiiiiit’s…foster father number two!”

The man climbs onto the ring, and takes off his tie with a scowl, then his jacket, letting them both fall onto the lower platform. “God, this day was shitty,” he growls. “C’mere, brat.”

Cold tendrils course through Akira’s head as he’s gripped with paralyzing Fear.

“He’s a victim of society too, y’know?” the announcer says. “So that makes it okay! _Begin!”_

“Kids like you don’t understand how hard it is being a grown-up,” the man says as he advances, his eyes narrow and his mouth hard. “You’re looking down on me too, huh? You think I’m just some nobody?”

Words come to his mouth unbidden; he finds himself shrinking back a few inches. “No, sir,” he says.

The man snorts. “Don’t fucking lie to me,” he spits, and his foot shoots up to slam into his head.

Everything spins. There’s a ringing sound in his ears; but it’s not quite loud enough to drown out the panicked mantra in his mind: _don’t make him mad, be small, be quiet, be nothing, be nothing._

“The home doesn’t screen its foster parent candidates very well,” the announcer declares. “But why should they? It’s not like there’s people queuing up for the job of raising someone else’s unwanted brat.”

He’s off-balance, barely notices the man’s elbow coming down until it hits the back of his head. The impact radiates through his skull, rattles his teeth.

“You’re not even worth the money they pay me,” the man snarls. “It makes me sick to come home and see you in _my_ house. Just stay in your room, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” he manages to say, and the mantra whispers _just do what he says, he’ll get tired soon, it’s almost over, it’s almost over._

“And always remember, Goro-chan,” the announcer says warmly. “It could always be _so_ much worse. Aren’t you grateful it isn’t?”

The man’s knee slams into his chest. It knocks him back, and he stumbles, slips, falls; lands on his back, the man standing over him.

Ice-cold terror consumes him, and the mantra in his head drowns out all rational thought. _No no no the other kids said no no please no don’t please no no no no no--_

But the man just kicks him in the side, not even that hard, and sneers, says, “Get out of my sight.” 

_“Winner!”_ the announcer screams, and the audience screams, and the man gets off the platform and walks away.

Akira feels sick.

The Fear leaches away, leaving only a queasy hollowness. He grabs one of the ropes, levers himself back up. Breathes.

Prays that Goro isn’t being forced to watch this.

His sight rises several inches at once--he can’t tell what exact age this is, but there must have been a growth spurt somewhere along the line. He glances at his clothes: a white button-up, at least one size too big, one of the buttons loose, the cuffs fraying, and dark slacks, the fabric worn thin.

“Entryyyyyy number four!” the announcer yells.

Through the curtain walks a thin, yellow-eyed old woman with gray hair tied up in a bun, wearing a severe gray jacket and skirt. A set of brown high heels click loudly as she makes her way into the ring.

“The thing about wanting to improve a corrupt system is that it takes time, and time spent _in_ a corrupt system can really wear you down,” the announcer says. “Maybe she wanted to help kids once, who knows! She certainly doesn’t now! Presentiiiiing the director of the Tokyo Boys’ Home!”

The woman fixes him with a stern glare. “You need a haircut,” she says icily. “It was hard enough getting you an interview with that high school, they’ll turn you down immediately if you go in looking like that. You’re not even _trying,_ are you.”

And Akira feels the sinking, consuming numbness of Despair.

“It’s the final round, folks, but it’s a doozy!” the announcer cries. _“Begin!”_

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” his mouth says. “I haven’t been able to save up enough for one yet. The interview is still a few days away, there’s time.”

“All you ever do is apologize,” the woman snaps. “You’ll never get anywhere in the world if you don’t stand up for yourself.” She gives a huff of a laugh. “Although you’re not likely to get anywhere regardless, so I shouldn’t even bother telling you.”

She grabs his hair and _yanks,_ pulling him down, his feet slipping from underneath him as she slams his head into the ground once, twice, three times. “I don’t know _why_ we’re wasting any money on you,” she says. “You’re nothing special. You’ll go the same way all the others do, no matter how hard you try.”

His head throbs and his vision blurs, but he almost doesn’t notice it. She’s right, anyway. Nothing he’s tried has actually worked out in the end. It’s so hard to be top of the class when he’s the only one who doesn’t go to cram school. Even when he does get a good grade, he doesn’t feel proud of it anymore--he just feels tired. Everything’s so tiring. 

“She’s not lying, it _did_ take some effort to get a high school to even look at you,” the announcer says. “The other kids didn’t even bother, they know what’s up. There’s no chance of any of you getting a good job. Your life’s a dead end, kid; you’re so close to accepting it!”

The woman lets go of his head, stomps down on his back, grinds her heel in. He remembers, very distantly, reading that screams are an unconscious attempt to call for help, the body’s instinctive last-ditch hope that there’s even the tiniest chance someone might be there to listen, and he doesn’t make a sound.

“I wish they’d let us kick you all out earlier,” she hisses. “A few years won’t make a difference. Half of you will end up in prison anyway.”

It feels like there’s a sludge in his head, weighing down his thoughts. Like trying to walk through a lake of mud. Sinking into it is so easy, so painless. 

The woman grabs him off the ground by the back of his shirt, flings him against the net, where he slumps, boneless.

“Don’t forget, there’s an easy way out,” the announcer says cheerily. “Plenty of ways to do it, too!”

The woman lifts him by his shirt collar, spits, “You should’ve followed your mother,” and slams her fist into his face.

Through the ringing in his ears, he barely notices her dropping him and walking off, or the announcer screaming _“Winner!”_

His mother was so messy about it. He shouldn’t make anyone have to clean up after him. A river, maybe. He’s smart, he’ll figure it out. It would’ve been easier if his mother just took him with her, but--

His mother.

His mother who cried so much and worked so hard and tried to love him as much as she could and was ruined through no fault of her own, his mother who told him over and over who was to blame, his mother who only suffered so much because of--

Despair is overwhelmed by the blinding inferno of _Rage._

He will _not_ give in! He will _not_ let himself fall to the same fate that took her! If the world is against him then he will bend it until it breaks! There is something he must do and he will do _anything_ to get the chance! He will--

Through the searing flames devouring his mind, he sees someone standing a few feet away from the ring.

Goro. Just standing. Throat working like he’s trying to say something. Expression…

Something that shouldn’t be on Goro’s face.

All of the thoughts and feelings that aren’t Akira’s vanish into nothingness. Akira staggers to his feet, suddenly taller, clothes black and gray and red and familiar--grips the top rope with both hands. Stares.

The audience explodes. The lights fade. Everything sinks into the black ground, leaving only him, Goro, and the opened path.

Any words Akira can think to say seem horribly inadequate.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Goro says, his voice utterly still. “We’ll talk to Lavenza tomorrow.”

Akira nods mutely.

Everything slips into blackness.

Akira wakes up to find Morgana on his chest again, making little kitty snores. It would be endearing, but he’s not feeling a lot right now, or maybe he’s feeling a lot of things all at once and they’re canceling each other out.

He glances over. Goro is standing by the window, looking out at the countryside. No longer see-through.

The alarm goes off, stirring Morgana awake. He hops off Akira’s chest and onto the ground, tail flicking as he sees Goro’s new state. “It worked!” he says. “How far did you get?”

Akira reaches over and turns off the alarm. He sits up in bed. “I don’t know,” he says. “Hopefully pretty far.”

But he doesn’t think it’s pretty far.

Akira looks over at Goro again. “Morning,” he says.

“Good morning,” Goro replies with no particular inflection. He’s still looking out the window.

“Morgana, can you go downstairs?” Akira asks.

Morgana cocks his head. “Sure, but why?”

“I want to talk to Goro about some stuff,” Akira replies, and hopes that Morgana gets the gist.

After a moment, Morgana nods and says, “All right, I’ll see you down there,” and leaves.

“I said we’re not going to talk about that,” Goro says, an emotion finally creeping into his voice: annoyance.

Akira stands up from his bed. Debates walking closer. Does it. “I feel like maybe we have to, a little?” he says. “I mean, there’s no Treasure. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in there once we reach the center. Palaces only go away once you get rid of the distortion, so…maybe the solution isn’t supernatural?”

Goro finally looks at him, glares at him. “The reason Persona users can’t have Palaces is because they _aren’t_ distorted,” he says coolly. “My psyche doesn’t need to be restructured, least of all by you. I am exactly who I am, and no misplaced heroism can change that.”

Akira rubs the back of his neck. He’s better at letting people talk through their own problems, not leading the conversation himself. “I don’t mean something big,” he says. “But talking about stuff helps people, right? Maybe the point of this is that you do need a little help. Even if it’s only a little.”

 _I like you so much and what I saw in there makes all of me hurt,_ he doesn’t say. _I want you to be okay. I don’t think you’re okay. I want to help you so badly and I think maybe your Palace is trying to tell me what kind of help you need._

Goro rolls his eyes. “I’ve managed this far, Joker,” he says flatly. “I think I can handle it.”

 _I’m not sure you have, actually,_ Akira doesn’t say.

“In any case, this little idea of yours is only a theory,” Goro says. “We don’t know what’s waiting in the center. It might be some bland boss fight, for all we know.”

“And if it _does_ involve you talking about your problems?” Akira asks steadily.

Goro’s jaw works. “Then we will deal with that when we get there,” he says.

Akira exhales. “Okay,” he says. It’s too early to be debating the merits of psychotherapy, anyway. “I have to get ready for school now.”

Goro nods and walks out of the room so Akira can change. Akira just stands there for a second, thinking.

He _doesn’t_ know what’s waiting for them in the center of the labyrinth, it’s true. And Lavenza said it wasn’t like other Palaces; maybe they just have to get to the middle and that’s it, they’re done. It doesn’t seem _likely,_ but what does he know?

Well. He knows seeing Goro’s expression after the final match hurt more than any of the fighting did.

It doesn’t matter, honestly, what’s waiting for them. Akira’s going to make it through this Palace, and he’s going to do whatever he needs to do, and if the universe still refuses to let him help Goro then he’s going to shoot it in the face. 

And right now he’s going to go to school. But the rest of it is on his to-do list.


	3. Chapter 3

Goro doesn’t talk much for the rest of the day. Not on the walk to school, not during lunch, not on the walk back from school. He just follows in silence. Akira gets the impression that if it wasn’t for the fifty-feet thing Goro would probably just stay at the house and brood.

But Goro isn’t the only person he can talk to, so:

 **Akira:** I made some progress in the Palace last night, I think  
**Futaba:** oooo deets  
**Akira:** I don’t think he’d want me sharing  
**Futaba:** fiiiiine  
**Ryuji:** is it like full of corpses or something  
**Ann:** Ryuji he just said he doesn’t want to share, geez  
**Makoto:** Did it give you any indication how much is left?  
**Akira:** Not really but I think there’s probably a lot  
**Yusuke:** If Akechi is unwilling to share the details, may I at least know the general aesthetic? Merely for curiosity’s sake, of course.  
**Akira:** idk it’s just black and foggy  
**Akira:** Lots of walking  
**Ryuji:** any cool shadows?  
**Akira:** We actually haven’t met any demons yet, it’s weird

He’s not going to tell them about the beings they have met.

 **Ryuji:** whaaaa that’s no fun  
**Ann:** They’re not doing this for fun Ryuji!  
**Ryuji:** i knowww but if you have to slog through akechi’s head you should at least get to fight stuff  
**Futaba:** oh so it’s a puzzle dungeon  
**Futaba:** always liked those  
**Akira:** I guess?  
**Sumire:** How’s Akechi-senpai doing?

Akira hesitates. But Goro’s not even looking, he’s back at the window.

 **Akira:** I think he’s pretty upset I’m going through his head  
**Akira:** The other Palaces were gross and stuff but this one’s just kind of depressing  
**Akira:** At first I was unhappy that you guys weren’t here but now I think it’s better this way  
**Sumire:** Oh no :( We’re sorry to hear that, Akechi-senpai.  
**Akira:** He’s not reading this  
**Haru:** Good, because I’m not sorry.  
**Ann:** Come on Haru don’t be mean :(  
**Haru:** It is possible to acknowledge that someone has experienced hardships and still not forgive them for what they have done.  
**Futaba:** you don’t gotta forgive him  
**Futaba:** i don’t really  
**Futaba:** idk it’s complicated  
**Makoto:** I understand how you feel, Haru.  
**Haru:** Thank you, Mako-chan. But I don’t expect you all to feel the way I do. We are different people.  
**Yusuke:** We are friends, though. We do not wish you to be unhappy.  
**Haru:** I’m not unhappy. I think Akira is doing a good thing. When Akechi spent time with us as a group in January, I was more or less okay with it. But I do not consider him to be my friend, and I doubt he considers me to be his.  
**Ryuji:** i mean he probably doesn’t consider any of us except akira to be his friend  
**Sumire:** I would like to be his friend!  
**Ryuji:** no offense sumire but there’s like so much stuff you missed  
**Sumire:** Perhaps that lets me be more objective.  
**Ann:** I totally get where you’re coming from Haru, and we’re not gonna force you to hang out with him or anything  
**Ann:** I just don’t think he really wanted to do all the stuff he did

Akira does not say that he’s pretty sure within a few days he’s going to find out whether or not Goro wanted to do the stuff he did.

 **Yusuke:** People are capable of doing many things they would not normally do when they think they do not have a choice.  
**Makoto:** Regardless, it’s rude to gossip about someone like this.  
**Akira:** Yeah guys I don’t really feel like debating it  
**Akira:** I want to help him, I don’t need a thesis on if he deserves it  
**Haru:** You want to help everyone, Akira.  
**Akira:** lol Goro basically said that too  
**Ann:** Goro???  
**Ryuji:** dude what  
**Akira:** I call all of you by your first names and I met him before I met some of you  
**Sumire:** Does he want all of us to call him Goro?  
**Akira:** Probably not  
**Ann:** So he calls you Akira now?  
**Akira:** Yeah I asked him to  
**Futaba:** akira maybe i should’ve asked this earlier but are you like. actual friends with him  
**Akira:** Yeah?  
**Ann:** I mean I feel sorry for him and I don’t think he’s that bad but I wouldn’t like ask him to get crepes with me  
**Akira:** He doesn’t like sweets anyway  
**Ryuji:** omg  
**Akira:** Again: I was already friends with him before I met some of you guys  
**Akira:** And Ann you might get along with him actually, he’s more bark than bite and he knows a lot about media stuff  
**Makoto:** I’ll assume you know what you’re doing.  
**Akira:** Yeah I do  
**Haru:** Akira, I mean no disrespect, but you really do like helping people quite a bit. Are you sure you’re not just looking for a project?  
**Akira:** Oh he’s definitely implied that  
**Akira:** Guys can we not do this  
**Akira:** I’m dealing with a lot right now  
**Futaba:** k we’ll table the “what’s the murderer’s favorite flavor of ice cream” discussion for later

“Vanilla, incidentally,” Goro says.

Akira flinches and turns his head to see that somewhere along the line he missed Goro leaving the window. He glances down next to him at Morgana, vaguely annoyed that he didn’t at least get a warning.

“Hey, he _just_ moved and he doesn’t make any sound when he walks,” Morgana says irritably.

Akira internally sighs and looks back at Goro. “That’s a surprisingly boring answer,” he says.

Goro shrugs. “It’s one of the few things I used to regularly say in interviews that’s actually true,” he says. “It’s generally not as sweet as the others, and it makes people think you’re sophisticated.”

Akira knows for a fact that Ann can’t choose between chocolate and strawberry, Futaba almost exclusively only eats the weird ones that are only available for like a week out of the year, and Yusuke will eat anything you put in front of him, but it’s strangely endearing to know that Goro has preferences like that too. He’d sort of worried that Goro didn’t actually like anything, at all, and only feigned interest in things to seem relatable to the general public. But no, Goro’s an actual person. Cool.

An actual person who’s peering down at Akira’s phone. “Talking about me, are we?” Goro says drily.

Akira closes the group chat. He doesn’t feel like talking in it right now, and the notifications will get annoying. “I guess they still have some reservations about you,” he says. “They’ll come around, though.”

Goro raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said they trusted you?”

“They trust that I’m right that you’re not gonna try to kill us all, they don’t have to agree with me on everything,” Akira says, a little defensively. “And like I said, they’ll get used to it.”

“And what if they don’t?” Goro asks softly. “What if none of them ever tolerate my presence as much as you do, and any attempt at including me in the group only leads to surface connections that fade the moment you’re not looking? Assuming I’d even bother attempting to remain in your general orbit any longer than I absolutely have to.”

Akira thinks about it. “You know how you said that if the center of the labyrinth requires you to talk about your feelings then you’ll deal with it when we get there?”

“Yes?”

“Right back at you.”

“…touché.”

The hours pass relatively peacefully until it’s time for bed.

Lavenza appears in the mirror just as she did before. “I see you’ve made some progress,” she says with a smile, when she sees Goro’s lack of translucency.

“Yes, it’s very nice,” Goro says briskly. “Can you tell how much of the Palace we’ve completed?”

Lavenza closes her eyes for a moment. “I am not completely certain, but it feels as if you are about…one-sixth of the way through it, I think. Though I am not sure how big the center is.”

Goro pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fantastic,” he says, his voice dripping with insincerity.

“Maybe we can get a lot of it done tonight,” Akira suggests in an attempt to lighten the mood. “We stopped kinda early last time, didn’t we?”

“I would not recommend extensive stays in the labyrinth,” Lavenza says, shaking her head. “It is a very taxing place, both for him and for you. Trying to get through it too quickly could have severe consequences.”

“Yeah, that…sounds about right,” Akira says heavily. Two of those in a row were bad enough; he really doesn’t want to imagine doing ten more.

“Good to know my subconscious is such a terrible place,” Goro says drily.

“Hey, that stuff wasn’t your fault,” Akira says, frowning. “You…do get that it wasn’t your fault, right?”

Goro gives him an icy stare. “It’s easy to deem me a helpless victim when _that stuff_ is all you’ve seen,” he says. “The further we get, the harder it will be for you to retain that belief.”

“If you say so,” Akira says. He’s not really up to arguing about that yet.

Lavenza clears her throat, very politely. “In any case,” she says. “Do you have further questions?”

“Is there really no way for me to do this on my own?” Goro asks. “The first encounter seemed to require two participants, but the second one did not.”

Lavenza shakes her head. “Though I do not know the details, both his presence and yours are required,” she says.

Goro exhales. “Fine,” he says. “That’s all for now, unless Akira has any burning questions he hasn’t mentioned.”

 _Besides “why didn’t you actually answer my question about if you understand that it isn’t your fault?”, no,_ Akira doesn’t say. “Not at the moment,” he says instead.

“Very well.” Lavenza bows. “Good luck to you both.” And she vanishes.

Goro looks at Akira. “Well, let’s get on with it,” he says.

They get on with it.

When they awake at the labyrinth, they’re in the same spot they were last time, or at least it looks the same. The long path ahead eventually cuts towards the right.

Akira adjusts his gloves, and they walk forward.

The path continues for a while longer. Akira wonders if there’s some significance to that--the passage of time between events, maybe, or a breather. Or maybe it’s just padding to make it take longer. Who knows?

When they do reach the next dead end, it’s another one with an entrance to something set into the wall. A tunnel, this time, it looks like, with some kind of cart inside. Or, no--the cart has two seats, padded, with bars in front of each one. A metal sign next to the entrance reads, in large black letters, PLEASE KEEP YOUR HANDS AND FEET INSIDE THE CAR.

Akira and Goro look at each other. “Don’t look at me, I don’t know anything about this,” Goro says, his mouth twisting.

“Fair enough.” They walk to the car, and see that it has tracks underneath it, leading far off into the dark tunnel. Once they get into the car, the seats prove to be pretty comfortable--though the way the bars automatically lower and snap into place once they’re sitting down makes Akira flinch a little. The point of them is to keep riders from falling out, he knows, but the idea of being restrained in a Palace isn’t…great.

From nowhere, a burst of peppy music plays. A vaguely electronic female voice says, “Welcome, friends, to Mementos: The First Awakening! Please, remain in the car until the ride ends and the bars return to their upright position. Now, let the adventure begin!”

The car starts to move, slowly, then a little faster, as lights blink on in the sides of the tunnel. The floor under the tracks abruptly slopes downwards; a mild breeze brushes through Akira’s hair as the car descends, the dark walls fading into a mishmash of browns and grays. A fairly generic, almost elevator-style music begins to play.

As the car slows down, the walls become increasingly familiar: signs saying things like TEIKYU BUILDING, an outcropping that looks like the front of the lottery stand, a distant Buchiko statue. And crowds, everywhere, black silhouettes in suits and T-shirts and dresses and every kind of ordinary clothes. The station square.

The crowds are moving back and forth like figures in a shadow play, and a few of them part to reveal a young boy. Light brown hair a little past his chin, the shabby white button-up and dark slacks Akira remembers wearing in the wrestling match. He’s looking up at a sign, face a little nervous, and it _almost_ looks real but the details are just a little off, just slightly doll-like. An animatronic.

“There’s a certain comfort in the anonymity of crowds,” the female voice says. It’s warmer than the previous ones, less like it’s delighting in whatever awfulness it’s describing. “No one knows or cares who you are. If they bother to look at you at all, they only see a high schooler. They don’t even get close enough to see the quality of your clothes. In a crowd, you’re a member of society like any other.”

The car continues to slowly move forward. The animatronic moves too, walking in a way that’s so close to real. With a stiff motion, he pulls a phone out of his pocket. It’s not close enough for Akira to get a good look at it.

“In a crowd, you are no one in particular,” the voice says. “But today, Goro Akechi, you are _someone.”_

The wall lights up with a projection of a phone screen. A few spiderwebbed cracks in a corner don’t distract from an icon popping up: a red eye, the color stark against the plain colors all around it. The bland music stops.

 _“Activating automatic navigation,”_ intones the voice of the Nav.

The car reaches the end of the tableau, and plummets into a swirl of black and red.

The floor spirals down, whirling at dizzying speed. Akira almost feels a little light-headed when it finally stops, arriving at a tableau drenched in the same black and red: the front area of Mementos, with the stairs leading into darkness. New music starts, a slow, pulsing bass.

Here, the animatronic looks around jerkily, clutches his phone. It may not be a perfect match for humanity, but the fear on his face is real enough. Akira glances at Goro--his face isn’t an emotionless mask, just slightly annoyed. Well, nothing really upsetting has happened in this one yet.

“No prophetic dream, no holy voice in your head to guide you,” the voice says. “God brought you in directly and let you find your way by yourself. But you’re used to that.”

The animatronic moves towards the stairs, and the slowly-moving car goes down a mild incline.

Up next is what looks like the first area of Qimranut. Colored lights shine down on the tableau, bathing the animatronic in dull, muddy red.

Faint moans and whispers fill the air. The animatronic is standing a little taller, but still glancing around with jerky movements. Projections of lumbering black silhouettes pass by in the background, and a layer of tense strings threads itself into the music.

“A world unlike anything you have ever seen,” the voice says. “Terrifying, but also enthralling. Where are you? What are those black beings? Is your heart rate rising from fear, or excitement?”

A much louder moan reverberates; the animatronic starts, ducks into a nearby tunnel, disappears into darkness.

The car drops abruptly, then rises, drops again, rises again, jerky and rough enough that it almost seems like it’s going to jump off the tracks as it descends.

The next tableau shows farther inside the tunnel, red and murky, the animatronic standing at one end and at the other, the figure of an old woman. Akira remembers her from last time: it’s the director of the Tokyo Boys’ Home, yellow shining in her eyes.

The bass notes in the music pulse louder, faster.

“You know it can’t be her,” the voice says. “She left the city this morning for a business trip, and can’t have gotten back this quickly. Why does something here have her face? Was it waiting for you?”

The figure of the old woman twitches, and a new voice rings out, sounding just as hateful as when it did in the ring.

 _“You_ again,” she spits. “I can’t even be free of you brats down here? And you’re the worst of the lot, pretending you’re better than the rest. You’re the same type of garbage as they are, only you smile more and think that makes you a person. Well, a pretty smile won’t do you any good down here, you little shit.”

A puff of black smoke bursts around her figure, enveloping it completely, and when the smoke clears she’s been replaced by a Succubus hanging from barely-visible strings. 

“Get over here and grovel, and maybe I’ll leave your face alone so you can have a pretty corpse,” she snarls.

The music gets faster, faster, and the car rises sharply, arriving at the next tableau much more quickly than the others.

This one’s mostly the same, but the animatronic is doubled over, clutching his head, while the Succubus laughs. The car is moving very slowly, now.

Instead of the female announcer, a deep male voice booms out. “Is this a just and honorable fate?” he says. “Will thou let thyself be slain by the forces of tyranny?”

And a different male voice, young and low and ragged. _“Never,”_ the voice of Goro spits. 

“Then forge with me a contract, and let loose thy arrows upon those who would trample on the weak,” the first male voice booms. _“I am thou…thou art I…”_

The animatronic straightens up, eyes yellow and wild, a red mask upon his face.

“Call upon me, and show the world the true nature of justice!”

The music crescendos in a triumphant surge of strings.

The animatronic grabs at the mask, his motions much smoother and more human, and tears it from his face with a scream. Blood drips down while blue smoke envelopes both his form and his entire side of the tableau, and when the smoke clears, he stands tall in the white prince outfit, with the figure of Robin Hood held up by strings above him, an arrow nocked at the Succubus, projections of blue chains lighting up the red walls.

“I am no peasant to be brought to heel by a wicked king,” the voice of Goro says lowly. “And you are a poor pretender to the throne, little demon. _Robin Hood!”_

The Robin Hood figure releases his arrow, and the Succubus screams as it slams into her.

The music slows, drops into tense pulses as the black smoke obscures the Succubus and reveals the old woman once more, kneeling before the animatronic.

“I’m just a part in the machine,” the old woman says hoarsely. “Bringing me down won’t change anything. It won’t change what you are or how the world sees you.”

“Perhaps not,” the animatronic says. “But it’s a good first step.”

Robin Hood fires again. Black smoke surrounds the old woman yet again, and when it dissipates, there’s nothing left.

The animatronic stands there, alone but for Robin Hood, looking down at his gloved hands.

 _“Continuing automatic navigation,”_ intones the voice of the Nav.

The car plummets.

The music fades into indistinct chatter as the next tableau reveals itself to be the station square once more, the animatronic standing amidst silhouettes, looking around the area and then down at the phone in his hand.

 _“Automatic navigation concluded,”_ the Nav says. _“Welcome to the Metaverse, Goro Akechi.”_

Very slowly, the animatronic smiles.

The car shoots up, and then rises and falls in a series of loops, over and over until Akira almost feels sick. Finally, it pulls out into a black tunnel, moving at a more reasonable pace until it reaches the foggy daylight at the end.

“Thank you for riding Mementos: The First Awakening,” the female voice says. “Please exit the car once the bars have returned to their upright position.”

The car comes to a halt, and the bars pull up, leaving Akira and Goro able to step off the car. They do, and stand outside the tunnel, blinking in the light, while everything behind them sinks into the ground. The path ahead of them is already open.

“That one wasn’t so bad,” Akira says. “It’s pretty similar to what I went through.” Although he had Ryuji with him, and Kamoshida’s castle wasn’t nearly as creepy-looking as Mementos, and he only defeated demons--well, it’s mostly similar.

“At the time, I considered it the best thing that had ever happened to me,” Goro says quietly. “When I got home that night, I found out that the director had been sent to a hospital in a coma. I felt…powerful, in a way I never had before.”

Akira considers some kind of supportive physical gesture, like maybe putting his hand on Goro’s shoulder or something. But he’s not sure how well it would be received. “Did anything change at the home?” he asks.

“There was an interim director for a while,” Goro replies. “I don’t remember his name. He was a little better than her, in that he mostly kept his profound disdain for us behind closed doors. By the time they found a permanent replacement, I’d already moved out into an apartment, so I don’t know if they were an improvement. Probably not.”

“Shido paid for it, right?” Akira asks, before he can help himself.

“I’m sure you’ll find out plenty about _Shido_ soon enough,” Goro says coolly. “If you don’t know it already. Did his Shadow tell you anything about me, by the way? I never did ask.”

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “Just that he’d figured out you were his son and was planning to get rid of you after the election,” he says, a little hesitantly.

Goro nods. “Yes, that sounds about right,” he says. “I suspected he would try something eventually, but I always assumed that by then I would’ve successfully enacted my little plan and it wouldn’t matter.” He exhales. “Well, you saw how that worked out.”

There’s a dangerous question lurking in there, one that Akira’s been avoiding thinking about since the engine room. What _was_ Goro’s plan for after he told Shido the truth? A psychotic breakdown? Blackmail? Sitting back and watching Shido fret himself into an early grave?

_‘It wouldn’t matter.’_

Maybe Goro thought there wouldn’t be an after.

But if he’s not willing to talk about his mother then he’s _definitely_ not willing to talk about that, so Akira has to put aside that question for now, along with all the other questions that keep building up the longer they spend in this place.

Goro starts walking again. Akira follows.

Akira’s not sure whether to think ‘that one wasn’t so bad, maybe the rest won’t be that bad’ or ‘that one wasn’t so bad, it’s setting us up for the rest to be awful’. Lavenza did say it was a rough place to be in. 

Once more, a right turn; once more, a dead end. This time, the area before the closed-off wall is full: rows and rows of chairs, with an empty path dividing them into two halves, and at the very back, a raised platform with a small set of stairs at each side, leading back to the ground. Against the back wall, a Shadow is busily painting a large canvas stretched over boards. A few other Shadows seem to be hotly debating something over a pile of variously-shaped plastic guns. Other Shadows mill around, flipping through copies of the same thin paperback.

Well, not really a paperback. A script, clearly.

One Shadow, a male one carrying both the script and a notebook, glances over at them and says, “Hey, you guys finally made it! C’mon, hurry and get on stage, we need to start rehearsal.”

“…be right there,” Goro says tightly, and they both walk up to the stage.

The director Shadow claps twice. The other Shadows all turn to look. “We’re starting,” he calls out. “Keep working on the set, it’s just a run-through for today. But try to keep it quiet.”

The other Shadows make vaguely affirming comments and get back to their respective jobs.

Akira and Goro climb up the stairs, and stand at the edge of the stage, waiting for instructions. Akira glances around; there’s some tape on the floor, but no finished backdrops or props that he can see, beyond what’s being worked on by the Shadows. The unfinished one is mostly just red.

A Shadow with a clipboard hands each of them a copy of the script, and flees offstage, scribbling something with a look of considerable stress.

Akira examines the cover. Just plain text, nothing fancy: A PORTRAIT OF THE MURDERER AS A YOUNG MAN. No playwright listed.

He’s about to flip through it when the director calls out, “Okay! I know this is you guys’ first time looking at the script, but we are on a schedule here, so we’re gonna have to jump right into it. Start on page 10, we’re skipping the first scene today since the actor for Shido-san can’t make it.” The director looks over at Akira. “Thanks for filling in, by the way,” he says. “I know you’ve got kind of a thankless part, but we really appreciate it.”

Akira gives a slightly worried smile. “Uh, thanks?” he says.

He and Goro both turn to page 10 of the script. At the top, it reads:

TIME: Early summer.  
SCENE: The second floor of Qimranut.  
GORO AKECHI stands in a dimly-lit tunnel, stage left. He is wearing the spirit of rebellion and carrying a pistol. On stage right stands TAKASHI SATO in a snappy three-piece suit.

 **SATO.** Hey, kid. Are you lost?

“All right, start!” the director calls.

And then something inside Akira shifts, and the script disappears.

“Hey, kid. Are you lost?” he asks, but his thoughts and his mouth are disconnected. He didn’t _mean_ to say that, he’s pretty sure. 

Across from him, Goro looks up from his own script. “I don’t believe I am, sir,” he says. “For the first time in a long time, the path before me is clear.”

Goro’s fingers clench on the script in the last second before it vanishes. His eyes widen slightly--and catch Akira’s, and Akira can tell in an instant that the same thing is happening to him.

Akira’s face arranges itself into a genial smile. “Good for you,” he says pleasantly. “Everyone should know where they’re going in life. That’s actually one of my platforms--motivating the youth, keeping them off the streets.”

Goro takes a deep breath. “That’s a shame,” he says quietly. “You don’t seem like a bad person, Takashi Sato. But I have to do this.” And from nowhere a Shadow silently slips next to him and hands him a pistol, and disappears back offstage, and he raises it.

Akira’s smile fades, but his voice remains calm. He puts up his hands. “Hey, now,” he says. “Who gave you that?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Goro says. His voice tightens a little. “None of this _matters._ I just have to do this, and--it’s not even like this’ll _kill_ you. You’ll just fall asleep. Maybe you’ll even wake up eventually, I don’t know how it works.”

“Let’s talk,” Akira says calmly. “Why do you think you have to do this?”

Goro grits his teeth. “Stop talking,” he says. “Just--just shut up. Transform and attack like the other one did.”

“I could do that,” Akira says. “I don’t think I should, though. There’s only two ways that’d shake out: you hurt me, or I hurt you. And frankly, I don’t like either of those endings.”

“If you don’t attack first, then I will,” Goro snaps.

“We can still talk this--” Akira starts.

Goro pulls the trigger. 

A burst of pain reverberates through Akira’s chest. He stumbles backwards, gasping, manages to glance down--no blood. There wasn’t even a bullet, really, or a bang. But it still hurts.

There’s a part of himself he doesn’t like to think about, that he mostly managed to avoid thinking about at all until he became Joker. Fighting in the Metaverse, it’s hard to deny, is _fun._ Exhilarating. A nonstop rush of adrenaline that doesn’t really crash until he gets home. It could almost be addicting, if he let it. It’s not that he enjoys hurting Shadows--it’s the thrill of it all, the danger, the knife’s edge between victory and defeat. 

So taking a blow in the Metaverse doesn’t really…bother him, in the way that it should; too many would be bad, of course, but a few, that’s fine, that’s manageable, that’s--good. A fight where the enemy never even touches him doesn’t feel _right,_ somehow. A fight where claws rake at his ribs or flames sear his leg or a giant club slams him into a wall so hard his vision goes blurry--that’s…better.

And it was easy to tell himself that was just a weird Metaverse thing up until he discovered the guy he had a crush on was planning to murder him, and his reaction wasn’t so much _That’s horrifying_ as it was _I wonder what that would feel like._

And then he happened to be seeing Goro most days in those three weeks, friendly and charming and very much planning to murder him, and it was hard not to wonder things like, _Are you picturing the same things I am, how did you feel when you came up with the idea, how much are you looking forward to it._

Three weeks of stress and tension and the heart-stopping knowledge that if the plan didn’t work the results would be _disastrous,_ combined with preexisting inclinations, made one hell of a psychological cocktail.

So right now, the pain from Goro shooting him isn’t really as…unpleasant, as it maybe should be. 

_“Attack,”_ Goro says. The gun is shaking, just slightly, and so is his voice.

“Guess I don’t have a choice,” Akira rasps. “Sorry, kid.”

His back arches, then he almost doubles over. It feels--it feels like he should be taller, somehow. And--sitting? Something presses a pole of some kind into his hand--he glances to see another Shadow disappearing offstage, and in his hand is now a three-pronged spear.

Akira slowly straightens up. His other hand clenches into a fist at his side. 

Goro looks--a little relieved, yeah, but his eyes are wide. The gun is still shaking. He reaches towards his face, yanks down a mask that isn’t there.

_“Robin Hood!”_

“We’re still getting the effects ready,” the director calls out, looking contrite.

And then comes another burst of pain, but larger, less focused. Akira bares his teeth. Growls, “You asked for it.”

Leaps, aiming the spear at Goro’s chest.

Goro dodges, barely, but is visibly off-balance; Akira whips around for a strike at his shoulder, and this one connects--but after a second of horror he realizes it isn’t actually going through Goro at all. The edges of the spear are blunted; at most he’ll just be a bit bruised.

But it certainly _looks_ like it hurts, as Goro staggers backwards, a look of fear on his face that quickly pulls back into determination. “You’ll have to try harder than that,” Goro hisses, and another invisible burst fills Akira’s chest.

This time, the pain’s enough that Akira feels unsteady on his feet, his grip on the spear loosening a little. He aims it one more time, though, flips it upside down, and slams it into Goro’s foot.

Goro makes a choked noise, tries to jump back. Can’t. The spear’s really only resting on top of his foot, but--well. 

“I told you, kid,” Akira says. “You won’t like how this ends either.”

And he reaches towards Goro’s throat--

_“Robin Hood!”_

Goro pulls down the invisible mask again. Akira’s pushed backwards by an invisible force, the spear yanking away from Goro’s foot. He doubles over from the pain, and the sensation of riding something vanishes; the spear, too, is gone from his hand.

Goro’s breath comes in hard pants for a few seconds before he straightens. “There,” he says, still sounding a little winded. “That wasn’t so hard. I can do that.”

Akira feels dead on his feet, but he looks up at Goro. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” he says quietly.

 _“Shut up,”_ Goro hisses, aiming the gun at him again. “You don’t know anything. You aren’t even a person. All you need to do is just--disappear, and then he’ll believe me.”

“And then what?” Akira asks. “What do you get out of all this, kid?”

 _“Stop calling me a kid,”_ Goro snaps.

“You look like one from where I’m standing,” Akira says. “Whoever gave you that gun might’ve told you you aren’t, but you are.”

Goro closes his eyes for a second. Takes a deep breath. “I’m done talking to you,” he says. 

And he pulls the trigger, and everything goes black.

Akira can’t tell how much time passes before the world reappears. But he hears something, vaguely, a distant loud sound that might be someone shouting. Pressure on his shoulder. And his other shoulder. The sound isn’t as loud anymore, but it’s less distant now.

He blinks, once, twice. Everything comes back into focus: something hard and flat underneath him, fog above him, Goro’s face.

Goro’s _worried_ face, for just a split-second before it shifts into a strained neutrality. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice just a little tight.

Akira blinks again. “…I think so?” he says, and notices Goro’s hands gripping his shoulders.

Goro lets go, stands up. Looks over at something. “Fine,” he says. “You’re right. But you still should have _told us.”_

“It’s in the script,” says the voice of the director, sounding a little bewildered. “Well, not exactly like this. But it’s just a rehearsal, anyway. He won’t _actually_ disappear until we do it live. Didn’t you read the contract?”

Goro’s face twists. “Won’t _actually--”_ he starts, then stops, exhales, smooths out his face. “Fine,” he says steadily. “We won’t be here for that anyway. I assume.”

Akira props himself up on his elbows. He’s still kind of tired. In the audience, all the milling Shadows are looking at Goro.

“It _is_ just the rehearsal,” the director says. “We’re done for the day. But you two did a great job!” He claps a few times. “Very touching, very genuine. You really got into it. You’ve got a future in the business!”

“Sure,” Goro says flatly. “Are we done here?”

“Yep!” the director says, and bows, and explodes, and everything sinks into the ground. Behind them, the labyrinth makes that weird metallic screeching sound while the dead end withdraws.

Akira manages to get to his feet. “That was…something,” he says.

Goro eyes him. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asks. “You were unconscious for a few minutes.”

“A little tired,” Akira admits. “You and Robin Hood pack a punch.”

Goro gives an extremely dry smile. “You were the one who stabbed me in the foot,” he says.

“I think technically it was that guy who stabbed you in the foot?” Akira hesitates. “So, uh…that was the first job you did for Shido, I’m guessing.”

Goro’s smile fades. “Yes,” he says. “To prove that I could do what I claimed. He gave me a name, and I took care of it. A man running for his seat in the Diet.”

“He seemed like a nice guy,” Akira says quietly.

“If you’re going to get all mopey whenever you see a reminder that some of the people I hurt were _nice,_ we’ll be here all month,” Goro says icily. 

“Yeah, I know, it’s just…” Akira sighs. “I don’t know. I’m more tired than I thought.” And because he’s more tired than he thought, and his brain is apparently operating on a less tactful wavelength than usual, he says, “So you seemed kind of worried about me?”

“I symbolically shot you in the head in a place where symbolism is reality and then you passed out and wouldn’t wake up,” Goro says, his voice very flat. “It was concerning.”

Oh. Yeah. 

Goro pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. “I know your hero complex tends towards martyrdom, but I don’t particularly wish to see you die trying to save me,” he says. “Or be severely injured, for that matter. There don’t seem to be any healing spells or items here, so if something happens to you, I can’t do anything about it.”

“I mean, same to you,” Akira says awkwardly. “If you got hurt, I mean.”

“Consider the roles it’s put you in thus far,” Goro says. _“You_ were the one in the wrestling match, _you_ were cast as the victim. I doubt my subconscious intends to do much harm to me, but I can’t say it has such benevolent intentions towards you.”

Akira rubs the back of his neck. He wasn’t really trying to think about it, but. Yeah. “I guess,” he admits. “But all the other Palaces were trying pretty hard to kill me too. I’m kind of used to it at this point.”

Goro’s mouth twists. “Other Palaces gave you ways to defend yourself,” he says. “This one does not. Multiple times now it has forced you into dangerous situations that you had no control over whatsoever. Given the track record of our relationship, forgive me for thinking that might be one, deliberate, and two, a _bad sign.”_

It’s a pretty good theory. But. “You get that that’s not actually going to stop me, right?” Akira says. “I mean, I’d definitely rather not get hurt, but if that’s what it takes to get you back to normal, I’ll do it.”

Goro closes his eyes for a few seconds. Five, actually; Akira finds himself counting, and vaguely wonders if Goro is counting too. “At least consider the possibility of a tactical withdrawal if the situation gets especially dire,” he says, eventually.

“Possibility considered,” Akira says. And he _does_ consider it--or at least he considers the idea of a dire situation, and finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he should.

Goro nods, though he doesn’t entirely look like he believes him. “We should call it for today,” he says. “It won’t do either of us any good if you mess up the next one because you’re in poor condition.”

Akira yawns. “I kind of feel like making a joke about how we keep getting into situations where you shoot me but it turns out you didn’t actually,” he says. “But I’m too tired to make it work.”

“…I don’t think it would be that funny anyway,” Goro says.

Akira, personally, thinks it would probably be pretty funny, but he doesn’t press the issue. 

Everything slips into blackness.

Goro’s standing at the same spot he was when Akira fell asleep. He doesn’t look any different, either, but then, his appearance was basically settled last time, or at least that’s how it seemed.

Out of curiosity, Akira reaches out, brushes his fingers against Goro’s side.

The soft fabric of his jacket is very tangible, and so is the solid outline of his hip.

Goro looks down at Akira’s fingers. “I suppose that answers that question,” he says, a little softly.

Morgana stirs, looks up sleepily. Akira withdraws his hand. “Good morning,” Morgana says. “Any progress?”

“Some,” Akira says, and gently pushes Morgana off his chest, sits up in bed, yawns in reality this time. “Goro’s tangible now, I think.”

Morgana hops off the bed and carefully bats at one of Goro’s shoes. His paw goes right through it.

Goro sighs heavily.

“Baby steps,” Akira says. He gets out of bed, rolls his shoulders. Has a moment of absolute insanity and ruffles Goro’s hair.

They both stare at each other for a second.

The insanity vanishes, and so Akira does _not_ say _Your hair’s really soft,_ even though it is. He just clears his throat and looks away.

“…I’ll leave you to it, then,” Goro says awkwardly, and exits the room.

Morgana looks up at him. “What was that about?” he asks.

“Just double-checking,” Akira says. It’s a very valid explanation, and he desperately hopes Morgana will believe it.

“You could’ve just touched his shoulder or something,” Morgana says, cocking his head.

Akira really doesn’t want to stay on the topic of touching Goro in general, so he says, “I’m just tired, Mona, get out of here so I can change.”

“All right,” Morgana says dubiously, his tail flicking, and leaves.

Akira exhales. 

Flexes the fingers on his right hand.

Goes to get changed and resolutely does not think about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to the concepts of sexual assault and adult-minor sex.

On the way to school, Goro walking next to him like he has the last couple days, Akira says, “Isn’t it boring, watching my classes all day?”

“Yes,” Goro says, like it should be obvious. “But sometimes when you’re not looking I go to the classroom behind you, so there’s at least a little change in the routine.”

“…is that classroom less boring?”

“No,” Goro says flatly.

“Right. Sorry.”

Morgana slips his head out of the bag. “Sometimes I help Akira with test questions,” he says. “You could do that, if you want something to do.”

Goro looks mildly offended. “I’m not going to help you _cheat,_ Joker,” he says.

“It’s not cheating, it’s using all the resources you have available,” Morgana says primly.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s still cheating.”

“It’s not like he knows _that_ much,” Akira says. “I think half the time he just sort of guesses?”

Morgana bats at his face with a paw. Akira serenely dodges. “See if I help you through an essay question again!” Morgana hisses.

“Not to distract you from your charming repartee, but there _is_ another student getting close to you,” Goro says. “So perhaps you should stop talking to your cat.”

Morgana slips back into the bag. Akira surreptitiously glances behind him to see that there is, indeed, a girl some distance behind them. “I should probably also stop talking to the dead celebrity who’s following me everywhere,” Akira whispers.

Goro looks sort of thoughtful. “Am I still a celebrity, really?” he says. “If only a handful of people remember me?” He huffs. “God, don’t tell me I’m washed-up.”

“And yet you had no problem with the following me part,” Akira says under his breath.

But it’s not like he has any either, so.

\---

 **Sumire:** Akechi-senpai, may I ask you a question?  
**Akira:** He says sure  
**Sumire:** What are your plans for after you’re returned to normal?  
**Akira:** He says he’s still figuring that out  
**Sumire:** Do you think you’d return to Tokyo?  
**Akira:** He says if that’s how it works out then sure but he’s not attached  
**Sumire:** We could meet up sometime! I know the three of us didn’t spend that much time together, but I have fond memories.  
**Akira:** I think that’d be cool  
**Akira:** He says he doesn’t really care but I think that means he’d be down with it?  
**Akira:** Can’t steal my phone when you’re intangible Goro

\---

“Any updates?” Akira asks. He doesn’t really expect any, but hope springs eternal.

Lavenza shakes her head. “You are perhaps one-third of the way through the labyrinth,” she says. “Beyond that, my master and I are still attempting to gain some view of the center, but we have not yet had any success.”

“Wait, does that mean you have a view of any other part of it?” Goro asks.

“Not…exactly,” Lavenza hedges. “I can see no specifics. Only a general impression of heavy emotions, concentrated in different places. A Treasure and a Shadow would be the strongest concentrations, but I do not sense anything at quite that level. In truth, there is nothing about the center of the labyrinth that is remarkably different from the rest; however, it is _because_ there is no difference that my master and I are concerned. The center ought to be something of great importance, and yet we do not sense any emotion from it at all. It feels no different from any of the interstitial paths.”

Akira frowns. The idea that there’s just…nothing, at the center of Goro’s heart, makes him feel a little uneasy. A Treasure would be unpleasant, but at least he’d know how to handle it. What does it mean if a person has no desires at all?

Of course, clearly Goro _does,_ he’s basically a normal person, albeit a little disinclined to talk about his feelings. But he does _have_ feelings. He wants things. At the very least he wants to not be in the situation he is now.

But…it has to mean something, doesn’t it. If the deepest part of his soul is empty.

“If we’re only a third of the way through, there’s still time for you to figure it out,” Goro says, which is a lot nicer than Akira expected. “Though it would be helpful if you could pick up the pace.” Ah, there it is.

Lavenza bows. “I will do my utmost,” she says.

And that, really, is all they can ask her for.

_Goro Akechi, former Detective Prince. Heart. Labyrinth._

The first thing Akira notices is that there is a very low layer of fog at their feet.

He takes an experimental step forward, and little wisps of it float around before settling back down. It looks just like the fog that obscures everything above them. And it definitely wasn’t there last time.

Akira points down at it. “Is this because we’re getting deeper?” he says.

“Perhaps,” Goro says, shrugging. “At least the layer above doesn’t seem to be getting any lower.”

A mystery for another time, maybe. It isn’t doing anything right now, or at least nothing they can immediately tell, so they keep moving forward.

At the next dead end, there is a pattern on the floor.

An eight-by-eight grid of black and white squares, each one maybe a few feet wide. On top of the squares are a set of black and white statues, person-sized.

Goro gives a huff of a laugh. “Chess, really?” he says. “Are we supposed to play each other? It’s a little early in the chronology for that.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Akira says, shaking his head. “Or at least not exactly.” He points at the back row of white pieces. “See, there’s a couple missing there.” And on the back row of the black pieces, one’s missing too.

“Two kings and a queen,” Goro muses. “Interesting. Well, given what the last one was, I’ve got a pretty good idea who our opponent is.”

Akira has a pretty good idea, too. “Is this another proxy thing?” he asks. “Which one of us is supposed to play, do you think?”

“Hmm.” Goro purses his lips. “If each side was missing a king, based on the wrestling match, I’d say you would be intended to play in my stead. But white is missing two pieces.” He glances at Akira. “How much do you know about chess?”

“Not that much, honestly,” Akira says, shaking his head. “I don’t play a lot of games.” He likes to think he's pretty good at billiards, but that was mostly out of a desire to look cool in front of the others. And the less said about that one weird dream where he was playing tycoon with everyone, the better.

“Then let’s hope a proxy isn’t needed,” Goro says drily. “In any case, the queen is the most versatile piece in the game. It has a greater range of movement than any of the others. If our opponent is who we think it is, and takes the position of king, and this game is a metaphor for that particular aspect of my life, then the queen is more suited to you than to me.”

Akira nods. It sounds pretty reasonable to him, anyway. And he does know enough about chess to know that losing the king loses the game, so--arguably this setup involves him being Goro’s best defense against that opponent, and he’s sort of guiltily happy about that.

“Let’s see if we’re right, anyway,” Goro says, walking towards the grid and gesturing at Akira to follow. He stands in one of the empty white squares, and Akira stands in the one next to him. Akira wonders, vaguely, if this one will have an awful commentator too. Do pro chess matches have those?

A moment after they take their places, someone appears on the tile for the black king.

Of course it’s Shido. It couldn’t be anyone else.

He doesn’t look any different from how he did last year, but a couple years wouldn’t make much difference at that age, probably. Same orange glasses, same goatee. Same smirk. Yellow eyes, though.

“So you’ve proven you have a little value,” Shido says. “I must admit, I’m surprised. I didn’t expect some random kid to be able to pull that off.”

“The game’s already started, I see,” Goro says quietly. “Very well.” Louder, he says, “I wouldn’t call myself some random kid, Shido-san. Surely you can see that by now. _Pawn to E4.”_

The pawn directly in front of Goro slides forward two spaces with the sound of stone scraping against metal.

“You’ve got some potential, perhaps,” Shido says. He puts his hands in his pockets, raises an eyebrow. “But you _are_ a child. Do you really think you can handle the adult world? It’s a little more complicated than shooting a stray thought with a borrowed gun. Pawn to D6.”

The pawn in front of the black queen moves forward one space.

Goro smiles. “I assure you, Shido-san, the world of children has its complications too. Pawn to D4.”

Akira watches the back-and-forth of pieces and words, unsure if he’s allowed to say anything or if it will disrupt the balance. Still, this is Goro’s game, not his. He’s not sure of the psychological underpinnings of that, either--does it represent Goro taking control over his past? Does it represent Akira _seeing_ Goro’s past? Or maybe both, or neither. Even now the mechanics of Palaces are fuzzy, and this one more than most.

It goes on like that for a little while. Knights, pawn, bishop; Akira can’t tell how well Goro’s doing. Probably not badly, given that he doesn’t seem bothered, but then, this game is probably also about Goro trying very hard to not seem bothered. 

Shido strokes his chin. “So, you’ve made it clear what you’re offering,” he says. “What I’m still not completely certain of is _why_ you’re offering. Bishop to G7.”

“I would’ve thought that was obvious,” Goro says pleasantly. “I’ve seen what this world is like. It’s a wretched little thing, and without a strong hand to guide it, it’s only going to get worse. I looked into a few different figures who seemed promising, but you beat them all, Shido-san. I’m certain that _you_ are the one who will lead this country to its greatest potential.” He glances at Akira, and says, “Queen to D2.”

 _Finally,_ something to do besides stand around and watch Goro play two games at once. Akira’s got a pretty good idea of what the letters and numbers mean by now, and so he moves one space ahead.

It puts him on a different row from Goro, but not so far away that he can’t defend if he needs to, probably.

Shido laughs. “Flattery, huh,” he says, sounding amused. “Not that I mind. It’s true that this country is in sore need of a new heading. Even if some of the methods are a little, ah, unorthodox. Pawn to C6.”

“I prefer to think of it as using all the resources you have available,” Goro says smoothly. “Pawn to F3.”

Akira tries very hard to keep a straight face.

Shido laughs again, harder this time. “Now _there’s_ the type of thinking this country needs,” he says. “You just might be what I’m looking for, kid. Pawn to B5.”

Goro’s smile stays perfectly fixed. “With all respect, Shido-san, I’d rather not be called ‘kid’,” he says. “It’s an unnecessary reminder that some people will not be willing to see past my age and acknowledge my value. Knight G to E2.”

“Of course, of course,” Shido says, nodding, his own smile bearing more than a faint trace of condescension. “My apologies, Akechi. Knight B to D7.”

Goro moves a bishop to H6, and--Shido’s smile sharpens. “I do wonder,” he says. “How far, exactly, are you prepared to go for me? Sometimes a mental shutdown doesn’t…go quite as planned. Bishop takes H6.”

One of the black bishops swiftly crashes into its white counterpart. The white bishop crumbles, dissipating into dust.

Akira gets a deeply uneasy feeling about what will happen if Shido decides to take out the queen.

He looks back to Goro--Goro glances at him, very briefly, his face a mask, before returning his eyes to Shido. Is that good? Does that mean this was part of a plan? Or does that mean he’s trying to _pretend_ it was part of a plan?

“I can’t say I’d prefer that,” Goro says. His voice has no inflection in it at all. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Queen takes H6.”

Akira hesitantly walks towards the black bishop. He touches it, and it falls to pieces.

“Excellent,” Shido says warmly. “My group has no need for anyone who isn’t willing to get their hands dirty. Bishop to B7.”

 _Right, because hiring a kid to do your murders for you is the definition of doing your own dirty work,_ Akira doesn’t say.

It continues, the two games of pieces and words. Many more moves, including two Akira doesn’t entirely understand that involve moving both a king and a rook at once. He has no idea how well it’s going--Goro and Shido each lose a pawn, but he really doesn’t know enough about chess to say if any other move is particularly good.

Eventually, Shido says, “I suppose we should talk compensation. What are you looking for? I’ve got my share of the pie, but it’s not unlimited. Bishop to A8.”

“I’m not asking for much,” Goro says. “An apartment, a stipend that would cover a student’s living expenses. And the tuition to a good school. Kosei, perhaps. Bishop to H3.”

Shido raises an eyebrow. “I looked into your school, and it’s fine. Why the need for a new one? Pawn to D5.”

Goro smiles. “I could say that I’m planning for my future,” he says. “Or I could say I just like the idea of getting into a better school than any of the classmates who told me I’d be lucky to work at a Big Bang Burger. Who knows? Queen to F4. Check.”

Akira moves to the new square. He still doesn’t know how to play chess, but--there’s an uninterrupted diagonal between him and Shido, now. If Shido can’t think of a good move…

Shido whistles. “I do find that spite is an excellent motivator,” he says. “But if you really want to get ahead in life, it shouldn’t be the _only_ motivator. King to A7.” And he takes a few leisurely steps away.

And the game continues.

Goro loses a knight. Shido loses a knight. Shido loses a pawn. Goro loses a rook. Goro gets check again--and Shido steps away again.

“Queen takes D4,” Goro says. “Check.” Akira watches a pawn dissolve at his touch. There’s only one diagonal space between him and Shido now, close enough for him to see a tightening in Shido’s jaw.

“Earlier, you mentioned using all the resources you have available,” Shido says. “That includes improving the ones you do have, yes? I know some people who would be very interested in studying your abilities. King takes A5.” 

A knight disappears as Shido flicks it in the forehead. 

“I’d be happy to speak with them,” Goro says. “Anything to increase my value to you. Pawn to B4. Check.”

“I can’t guarantee any experiments they try will be pleasant ones, I’m afraid,” Shido says. “King to A4.” He’s on the same row as Akira now, but there’s a white pawn in the way.

“As I said before, Shido-san,” Goro says with a smile. “When it comes to my goal, I’m willing to do anything. Queen to C3.”

Akira moves a little closer to Shido. Not close enough, though, if there’s no check.

Goro loses a pawn. Shido loses a bishop. Akira takes out Shido’s last knight himself, and Goro loses a pawn, and Shido loses a pawn, and Akira gets check again.

But Shido’s descended pretty far. Right now, he’s not that far away from Goro. Not in check yet--but Akira doesn’t like it, what Shido seems to be doing. Is he trying to take out Goro himself?

“You know, I’ve just had a fascinating idea,” Shido says. “I have some connections with the police. It wouldn’t be hard to pull some strings to get you involved with a few investigations. A smart, good-looking young man like yourself has some appeal as a publicity stunt, if you handle it right. King takes B4.”

A pawn crumbles away with Shido’s touch. He’s in the same column as Goro now, just two squares away.

“The second Detective Prince, hm?” Goro says. “I like the sound of that. Though I could capitalize on it much more than Shirogane ever did. For one thing, I’m far more charismatic. Pawn to C3. Check.”

Shido glances at the white piece that’s now one diagonal space away from him. Akira suddenly has a deep desire for a pawn to be the piece that takes him out. Queen would be best, obviously, but pawn’s got some _symbolism._

“Assuming you have what it takes, that is,” Shido says. “With your background, you don’t seem like much of a socialite. King takes C3.”

The pawn disintegrates. Shido is getting even closer to Goro.

“I like to think I’m a decent actor,” Goro says pleasantly. “Or a decent bullshitter, at any rate. Queen to A1. Check.”

Akira moves back an entire five spaces, all the way next to Goro. And apparently close enough to Shido.

“That might seem like enough now, but the deeper you get into that world, the better a liar everyone else is,” Shido says. “You might find you’re a big fish in a small pond. King to D2.”

He moves one diagonal space. The amount of spaces between him and Goro hasn’t really changed, but it still feels like he’s closing in.

Akira takes advantage of being next to Goro again. “How’s it going?” he whispers. “Isn’t Shido getting really close?”

“Closeness to the king isn’t everything when you’re this deep into enemy lines,” Goro whispers. “I believe it’s going quite well. He hasn’t managed one check against me, and it’s hard for him to make a move when you’re nearby.” Louder, he says, “Even the best liars often have such a high opinion of their abilities that they underestimate what seems like a weaker target. A wide-eyed teenager who would so love their help, for instance. Queen to B2. Check.”

Akira moves to the space in front of Goro. And yeah, Goro’s done a good few checks, but the thing is, Shido’s gotten out of every one. And he’s _so_ close to Goro. No matter what Goro says, Akira’s still nervous.

Shido chuckles. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to be a wide-eyed teenager around such people,” he says. Akira kind of really wants to punch him. “King to D1.”

Shido moves one space down. He’s on the back row. He’s on the back row and there is _one_ space between him and Goro. He didn’t say check, but--Akira looks back at Goro anyway, his nerves rising.

Goro seems unperturbed. In fact, Akira can barely see a tiny smile on his face.

“Careful, Shido-san,” he says. “It almost sounds like you’re admitting to something you shouldn’t. Bishop to F1.”

The last white bishop moves to the back row, one space between it and Shido.

Shido eyes it. There’s that tightening in his jaw again. But it fades. “You’ll have to get used to such things if you want to walk among the powerful,” he says, almost airily. “Not that _you’ll_ have a problem, unless you go looking for it. Which could be a viable strategy, for a pretty young thing like you. You seem like you’d have the temperament.” He actually _leers._ God, Akira _really_ wants to punch him. “But loose lips sink ships, and if you make too much noise, you’ll find yourself out to sea. Rook to D2.”

A black rook moves down the entire board to stand in front of Shido. Akira glances back at Goro--Shido’s spouting _such_ bullshit, even he can’t be entirely immune.

But Goro’s expression hasn’t changed. “Thank you for the sound advice,” he says pleasantly. “Though you may be surprised what can happen when noise comes from the right person. Rook to D7.” And he looks over at Akira with that tiny smile. Akira can’t help giving one back.

The last white rook moves two spaces, into the same column as Shido and the black rook.

“And _you_ may be surprised what can happen to kids who overestimate their own importance,” Shido says. “Rook takes D7.”

The black rook crashes into the white one, destroying it.

Goro raises an eyebrow. “Getting to the veiled threats already?” he says. “You’ve barely used my power at all. I hope you’d at least try another sample before deciding it’s unnecessary. Bishop takes C4.”

And the last white bishop pulverizes the black queen.

There are only two black pieces remaining on the lower half of the board: Shido, and a pawn a few squares ahead of Akira. The others are mostly clustered in the far-right corner. Shido _is_ close to Goro, yes, but--it’s looking more and more like Goro was right about closeness in enemy territory not necessarily being a good thing.

“I’ve gotten this far without your help,” Shido says with a smirk. “I don’t know how _necessary_ you are. Pawn takes C4.”

The lower black pawn smashes the last white bishop. Suddenly, the white advantage in the lower left corner doesn’t seem as strong.

“You’ve gotten _this_ far, yes,” Goro says. “But you’re not quite there yet, are you? You’ve been where you are for a while now. The level of money and influence you have isn’t quite enough to get you any further, Shido-san. If you don’t want to stagnate at mere moderate success for the rest of your life, you need extraordinary measures. You need _me._ Queen takes H8.”

Akira looks sharply at Goro. H8 is _so far,_ it’s the very top of the far right corner, is Goro insane? If Akira leaves, Goro’s alone with Shido and the lower black pawn. That _can’t_ be the right move.

Goro looks back at him, and nods.

Akira takes a deep breath. Okay. He just has to trust that Goro knows what he’s doing. He takes the long walk all the way up to H8, and a black rook crumbles.

Now that he’s up here, there are three black pawns very close to him. Akira really, really wishes he knew more about chess, because it certainly _looks_ like he’s in trouble too.

Shido gives a huff of a breath. “You’ve got a very high opinion of yourself for someone who’s only pulled this off twice,” he says. “How do I know you’ll even manage another? Rook to D3.”

The last black rook moves four spaces closer to Shido. It’s not quite at Goro yet, but it is cornering him even more.

“You’ll just have to see, won’t you,” Goro says. “If I fail, no harm, no foul; you won’t have wasted much on me, and no one will ever know we were briefly connected. Really, you’ve got nothing to lose here, and everything to gain. Queen to A8.”

Akira walks all the way across the row, but he’s still far from Goro. What’s Goro’s plan, here? What was even the point of sending him to H8, besides capturing a rook that was probably too far away to do anything?

“Whereas you’ve got quite a bit to lose,” Shido says. “You’re risking your life for this little crusade of yours. Are you really _that_ desperate to save Japan from whatever terrible future you’re prophesizing? Pawn to C3.”

A black pawn moves one space closer to Goro.

“For all your hard work, you _have_ had a fair amount of luck in your life,” Goro says. “You’ve never felt true desperation. You don’t understand how far a person can go when they see no other option. Queen to A4. Check.”

Akira hurries down the column. There’s an unbroken diagonal between him and Shido, now.

“I take it you’re referring to yourself,” Shido says, raising an eyebrow. “Going to dump your tragic backstory on me? I’m really not interested. King to E1.”

He takes one step away, and out of Akira’s path.

“That’s a problem you might want to work on,” Goro says evenly. “Not being interested in the thoughts of those you perceive to be lesser than you. Pawn to F4.”

A white pawn rises one space. What good that will do, Akira has no idea.

Shido laughs. “Noble words, Akechi, but those who are _lesser_ than me haven’t gotten in my way yet, and I doubt they ever will. Pawn to F5.”

A black pawn descends to the space in front of the white pawn.

“I said those you _perceive_ as lesser,” Goro says. “You’ve got quite a blind spot, Shido. It’s easier than you think for someone to slip inside it. King to C1.”

Goro’s only moved once before in the game, and now he moves one space closer to Shido. Once more, there is only one space between them, but now, it rather seems as if that’s not to Goro’s disadvantage anymore.

“Your turn to give the sound advice, I see,” Shido says. He’s lost all trace of smugness, his smirk turned to a wary frown. “But I do wonder if you shouldn’t take it yourself. Rook to D2.”

The last black rook descends one step, closer to both of them.

Goro exhales. “Yes, well,” he says. “That one, I’ll figure out eventually. Queen to A7.”

Again he sends Akira farther. _Why?_

Shido looks around the board for a few seconds, then a few seconds more. “I see,” he says. “You’re not half bad at this.”

“I do my best,” Goro says quietly.

“I concede,” Shido says, spreading his arms with a wide smirk. “What a _marvelous_ game. You’ve got even more potential than I thought. I look forward to working with you very much, Akechi.”

Goro doesn’t respond.

Shido gives a sly little wave, and explodes into black particles as the pieces and grid sink into the floor.

Akira walks over to Goro. His posture is looser than usual. But not in a good way, maybe.

“Hey, you won,” Akira says, in an attempt to boost the mood a little.

Goro looks tired, all of a sudden. “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I did.”

Oh.

“You know what, let’s sit down for a few minutes,” Akira says. “I think a break’d be pretty good right now.”

“Perhaps,” Goro says, and they both sit down against a wall to watch the dead end withdraw with a screech.

For a minute or so, Akira just sort of watches Goro. If he can tell, he doesn’t seem to care. In a way, he almost looks as tired as Akira felt after the play.

Eventually, Akira says, “So, your dad’s a piece of shit and I’m really glad he’s in jail.”

Goro snorts. Like, actually snorts, the undignified sound and everything. “You and me both,” he says drily. “I wish I could’ve been there to see it happen.”

“Same here,” Akira says. “It’s pretty unfair that you weren’t.” He hesitates. “You know, when I saw you again on Christmas Eve, I kinda…” _Really wanted to hug you and maybe kiss you, but Sae was there and also I was like processing so many different things at once, but I did want to. That whole night I kept wishing I’d done it. God, that’s the story of us, a succession of me wishing I’d done something while I had the chance, over and over._ He does not say any of that. “…I was just really happy,” he finishes lamely.

“Yes, well, I _was_ there to dramatically take your prison sentence away from you, so that’s understandable,” Goro says, looking out into the empty fog.

Akira breathes in, out. “Goro,” he says, very patiently. “I’m going to keep saying this until you believe it. I care about you and I want you to be okay.”

Goro is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Well, eventually we’ll get to the part of my life that’s significantly less excusable, so perhaps that will change soon.”

Akira kind of wants to just grab Goro by the shoulders and shake him and yell, _How are you still not getting this, what do I have to do to make you believe me, I know you’re not stupid so why, why, why,_ but that would kind of go against the purpose of taking a break, so he doesn’t.

Instead he just breathes and says, “We’ll see,” and leaves it at that.

Eventually, Goro stands up and says, “We should get back to it.”

“You sure?” Akira asks. “I know I was pretty wiped after the play. We can rest a little longer, I don’t know how time works here anyway.”

 _“You_ got shot in the head and passed out,” Goro says, narrowing his eyes. “I was just a little tired. It’s fine now, let’s go.”

Akira doesn’t actually know enough about how the brain works to say anything definitive about emotional exhaustion, but he’s pretty sure it’s a thing. Still, if Goro wants to get moving, he can’t really stop him. “Okay,” he says, standing up, and they head off down the path.

The next bend leads them to something that looks pretty familiar: the entrance to a dark tunnel, a two-seated car sitting on rails inside it. But when they get closer, they see that the car is dented, scratched, a little rusty. The sign outside the tunnel still says PLEASE KEEP YOUR HANDS AND FEET INSIDE THE CAR, but there are several large cracks jutting from a dent in the middle, like it was hit with something hard.

It’s not like it’s unusual for anything in this place to give Akira a bad feeling, but this one seems…unsettling. They both get into the car.

The bars snap into place over them. But the snap isn’t quite as…definitive, as it was last time. Akira and Goro both prod at the bars, and discover that they’re just a little loose.

They look at each other.

Goro exhales. “Remember what I said about tactical withdrawals,” he says heavily.

The peppy music and vaguely electronic female voice return, but distorted now, frequently skipping or slurring. “W-welcome f-f-friends to Tri-tri-trialsss of Courrrrage: The Se-se-second Awaken-en-innnnnng,” she says, the sound trailing off at the end. “Please remai-ai-ainnnn innnn…” And it stops entirely with an electronic drain.

Lights in the tunnel flicker between murky red and sickly fluorescent white. With a metallic groan, the car edges forward, the tracks squeaking underneath it.

The car suddenly jolts, moving much faster. Down and down it goes, rattling and creaking, until the tracks level out and it finally slows down at the first tableau.

The setting is almost pleasant, warm tones and light, relaxing background music that only skips occasionally. A black-haired woman in a lab coat and a lanyard sits behind a desk covered in papers, folders, and a computer Akira can’t see the screen of, with a familiar boy sitting in the chair in front of her. His clothes are a little nicer this time, and his hair is a little shorter. Both of them are smiling.

“I-isshiki-sensei was always so direct,” the female voice says, not skipping as much either. “Brusque, but not c-cruel. She wanted to learn, but she wanted to h-help, too. She always said ch-ch-ch-children deserved as much respect as adults. She talked about her d-d-daughter. She thought you two might g-get along.

“She was a g-g-good p-p-person.”

The lights on the tableau abruptly go out, and the music stops. The car rushes forward, down, down.

Akira glances at Goro. Once again, his face is a mask.

The next tableau shows several people in lab coats sitting around a table, Wakaba and the boy among them. They appear to be in a conversation; one has his mouth open and is gesturing towards the boy, everyone attentive. The talking one’s arm jerks slightly, back and forth. Periodically, a spark flies out of a small tear in the fabric. 

“They told her they wanted to u-use the Metaverse for th-therapy,” the voice says. “To h-heal people’s minds through cognition. They said they hoped your a-abilities could be e-e-enhanced to let you access a sick person’s h-heart so you could show them their th-thoughts were not real. You knew they were ly-ly-lying, but you did nnnot tell her.”

The car plunges even farther down into the dark.

Dark red fills the tunnel as the next tableau reveals itself to be Mementos once more, complete with background moans and projected silhouettes. The boy stands in the middle, wearing the prince outfit and carrying a sword. The low, pulsing music from last time returns, but periodically dips into static. One of the boy’s arms twitches irregularly.

“Thhheir first theory was that it would come with e-experience,” the female voice stammers. “T-training yourself against ordinary Sh-shadows until new powers simply u-unlocked.”

One of the projected silhouettes rears up with a cry and lumbers towards the boy. He raises his sword, and a projection of Robin Hood appears above him, firing an arrow at the Shadow, which screams and vanishes. And another silhouette appears, and it happens again. And again. And again. And again.

The boy staggers. One of his knees starts to spark and twitch, and then a small _snap_ rings out as something in it breaks and the boy collapses to the ground. The silhouettes and Robin Hood flicker, but continue their fight even as he lies there.

“I-it did nnnnnot work,” the voice says.

Down, down.

The pulsing music goes staticky and shifts into uneasy strings as a lab comes out of the dark. Wakaba, the scientists, and the boy stand around a metal box perhaps a few feet high, marked with kanji that Akira can’t quite read from here.

“I-isshiki-sensei had connections,” says the voice. “A corporation, or a f-family, you weren’t sure. They allowed use of a machine you did n-not understand. It could t-temporarily give a space the properties of what they called the D-d-dark H-hour.”

The box opens, and something inside it shines, whirs, extends a pole almost to the roof of the tunnel. In a flickering flash, the lighting turns dull and green. The scientists and the boy all look around with jerky movements, but Wakaba does not.

“Not quite the M-metaverse, Isshiki-sensei said,” says the voice. “But g-good enough. There you could s-summon a P-p-persona whenever they wanted.” The voice stalls and repeats itself in an electronic echo: “They wanted. They wanted. They wanted.”

White smoke envelopes the boy. When it dissipates, he’s now wearing the prince outfit, and a projection of Robin Hood flickers into being above him. Flickers in and out, again and again.

Down, down. The music grows more staticky.

The lab again, still green, with the boy sitting in a chair, shirtless, electrodes attached to his chest and head trailing into what look like monitors. Wakaba stands next to him, one hand reaching towards him, looking worried. The other scientists are taking notes, holding clipboards, talking.

“P-personas have different abilities, they said,” the voice says. “Some have greater sensory p-powers than others. They thought maybe a n-n-new Persona would be d-d-d-different. People with multiple P-personas exist, and sometimes P-personas e-e-evolve. Eitherrrrr of those would w-work.

“They said all recorded P-persona awakeninnngs came from s-s-s-stressss. They said. They said. They said.”

One of the scientists types something into a keypad on a monitor. A screen lights up, and the boy jolts.

Robin Hood flickers above him, but quickly fades. A spark flies from the boy’s neck. Another jolt, and another flicker, and another spark, all stronger. The boy squeezes his eyes shut. The flickering Robin Hood starts to clutch his head. 

With one more jolt, the boy’s neck snaps and lolls forward, sparking intermittently. Robin Hood fades.

“It did nnnnnot work eitherrrrr.”

Akira feels queasy as the car descends.

The lab isn’t green anymore, and the boy has his shirt back on, slightly huddled in the chair. Wakaba stands in front of him, facing the other scientists with a look of fury on her face.

“Isshiki-sensei said it was in-inhumane. She demanded different avenues of r-research and threatened to q-quit if they did not. She was an ex-expert, they needed her.”

One of the scientists puts his hand on Wakaba’s shoulder.

“She was r-r-removed from the p-p-project.”

Down, down.

The next tableau is wildly different from the others: a richly-decorated room with a roaring fireplace in the back, hunting trophies dotting the walls, a gigantic tiger-skin rug on the floor. A yellow-eyed man in a safari outfit stands in the middle, carrying a rifle over one shoulder. Standing several feet away from him is the boy, wearing the prince outfit. The music grows increasingly discordant. Halfway through, the car stops entirely, not moving at all.

“They thought a P-palace would be better. They told you it was your l-l-last ch-chance. If you could not awakennn or evolve you were not n-n-n-needed. D-do it or do not r-r-return, they said. They s-said a lot of things but they meannnnnt if you cannot d-do this they will. Will. Will. Willllll--” And the voice cuts out.

The Shadow smirks. “What’s the matter, boy?” he says. “You look worn-out. Getting to me took that much out of you, huh?”

“If it was easy, it wouldn’t work,” the voice of Goro rasps. “But I can handle it. I just need to be in enough danger, and then it will happen again, and everything will be fine.”

“No idea what you’re talking about, boy,” the Shadow says cheerily. “But if you’re here to kill me, well, whoever sent you in here better not be expecting to get an entire corpse back.”

The room fills with smoke. When the smoke fades, the Shadow has grown huge and ludicrously muscular, his safari outfit bursting at the seams, rifles jutting from his spine like extended vertebrae. His face is vaguely leonine, with gigantic fangs, and huge claws sprout from his fingers.

“Challenges are nice and all, but sometimes it’s fun to take down easy prey,” the Shadow growls, and leaps forward.

The boy parries with a hasty strike of his sword, but he’s pushed back. One of his knees starts to twitch. 

He summons Robin Hood, this time appearing in smoke and physical form again, and Robin fires an arrow; it bounces off the monster and clatters uselessly on the floor. The monster swipes at the boy with a roar, and the giant claws rip across his chest, exposing pieces of a metal frame underneath.

The boy screams, stumbles. Sparks fly out of the gaping hole in his chest. Robin fires another arrow, but it misses the monster entirely. 

The female voice speaks again, her voice even more distorted. “S-s-s-stressss, f-f-ffearrrrrr, trau-trau-traumaaa, they ssssaiiiid,” she stammers and slurs. “Thhhhey for-for-for-forgot onnne. Thhhhhey for-for-for-forgot _angerrrrrr.”_

Both the boy and monster go still; the boy, almost about to collapse backwards, the monster, preparing for another leap.

A deep, almost sultry male voice speaks.

“Such a _tragic_ fate, little warrior,” he purrs. “Bound by the chains of those who do not even try to understand thy nature. Thou who would bring destruction, will thou let thyself die a coward, or will thou shatter the world that binds thee?”

“I will _not_ die here,” the boy says, his voice ragged. “My fate may be that of ruin, but I will take every one of those rotten fools down with me before I go.”

The deep voice chuckles. “I did not think so. Thy chaos will spread wide, little warrior. _I am thou…thou art I…”_

The boy tears the red mask off his face, exposing wires and frame. He screams, and the sound distorts loud enough that Akira winces in pain. The music fills with ear-splitting static.

Red smoke envelopes him, and when it dissipates, there stands the black mask, doubled over and gasping. Robin Hood is gone. Above him floats Loki, sword in hand, the strings holding him up barely visible.

“Let loose the venom they pour upon thee,” Loki growls through the static. “Return thy suffering thricefold! Sow upon the world the destruction it deserves!”

The boy straightens, and roars, “Come to me, _Loki!”_

Loki lunges towards the monster, and thrusts his sword through its chest, sending a shower of sparks into the air. His other hand grabs onto the monster’s head and _squeezes,_ reducing it to crushed, twitching metal.

The sword carves through the monster’s body, over and over, slicing it until it’s almost unrecognizable. Through it all, the boy stands watching, panting.

The static halts.

A burst of black smoke removes the sparking remains of the monster, and in its place stands the Shadow again, clutching at his chest. “I should’ve seen it,” he says hoarsely. “A predator should recognize another predator.”

The boy takes a deep breath. “Loki,” he says, a slight crack in his voice belying an attempt at calm. “What can I do?”

Loki looks back at him. “His heart is a twisted thing,” Loki says. “If thou wish, thou may twist it even more, cast it into the venom and watch it _burn.”_

“…yes,” the boy says, and then louder, clearer, “Yes, that’s right. That’s--not exactly what they wanted, I think, but it will do. It will _more_ than do.”

He reaches out his hand. Clenches it, as if he’s grabbing something. Sharply turns his wrist.

The Shadow screams, and falls back, sparks coming from his eyes and mouth.

The static rises, rises, rises.

“So many enemies,” Loki says lowly. “Some thou knowest, some thou doth not, some thou _will_ knowest--all of them, _all of them_ deserve a share in thy calamity.”

The static reaches an unbearable pitch, and Loki turns his head to look at the car.

Akira immediately grabs at the bars, pushes them as hard as he can, and they _do_ move, but it’s like molasses. Next to him, Goro does the same.

The strings holding up Loki _snap_ \--his face unhinges like an anglerfish, revealing rows of red, jagged teeth--with a roar, he _leaps--_

Finally, the bars lift up enough that Akira and Goro can scramble out of them, and they sprint down the tracks, down and down--and _stop_ for just a second, because the tracks don’t go down an incline, they go down a _vertical drop._ There’s nothing but darkness ahead of them, a fall with no visible end.

The second of hesitation was a mistake. Pain erupts in Akira’s shoulder as several sharp points dig into it; he grits his teeth and manages not to cry out. He’s pulled back from the edge, flipped around to face his attacker. Loki is _right there,_ a nightmare in black and white with rows of sharp teeth inches from his face. One set of razor-sharp fingers digs into the edge of his waist, piercing through the coat, and the other rests a thumb under his chin, tilting his face closer to that wide, predatory maw.

 _“Jokerrrr,”_ Loki purrs, stretching out the R. “Hardly a Sigyn, but still, so devoted. So _delicious.”_

An obscenely long, blood-red tongue slides out from between the rows of teeth and laps at his cheek, leaving a thick trail of almost painfully hot saliva.

The static is _so loud--_ Loki’s horns brush against his hair--Akira can’t _think_ over the cascading adrenaline and fear and something darker coursing through his veins--

Abruptly, the fingers and tongue all fall away as something shoves him out of Loki’s grasp, knocking him backwards, down into the long fall of the tunnel beneath.

The paralysis breaks like a shattering glass. Akira blinks, and finally registers that what shoved him was Goro, currently gripping his arms and honestly not much farther away from him than Loki was. Goro’s face is a strange combination of angry and ashen, and he snaps, “You _idiot,_ you should’ve just jumped!”

The wind whips around them as the light and noise from the upper part of the tunnel both fade into the distance. “I get that _now!”_ Akira says, and almost follows it with something about the moment being too intense, but also he doesn’t want to talk about or think about that moment ever again, so he doesn’t.

Goro lets go of him, looks past him. Akira glances down too, and sees only darkness. 

It’s a long, long fall. The lack of light makes it hard to see Goro. What happens when they reach the bottom? Are they just going to crash into the ground and die right there?

 _This can’t be how it ends,_ Akira thinks. _Even if this place wants to hurt me, I don’t think it actually wants to_ kill _me. Probably. And Goro’s here too, a hard landing would get him too--unless something happens and it doesn’t._

_But. If it does want to kill me._

_…it would probably prefer something more intimate._

Akira shoves that thought to the back of his brain.

Suddenly, the wind whips up even more. It buffets them, separates them, and very gradually, the fall starts to slow down.

The ground meets them with a heavy _thud,_ but not a damaging one, barring maybe some bruises. They stand up, look around; it’s just darkness, impossible to make anything out.

A whisper of very thin static rises and the female voice says, jankily, “Thhhey gave you y-y-your first tar-tar-targettttt.”

A spotlight appears in the darkness. In it stands an unmoving animatronic of Wakaba Isshiki.

The static and voice drain away.

Not too far away, a wall slides open with a grinding noise, revealing an exit back into the foggy light.

Akira slowly walks up to the animatronic. They never got close enough to the others before--now, he can see the obvious differences between it and a real human. But it does look _mostly_ human. Besides the sphinx, the only times he got a look at the actual Wakaba were the brief meetings in January, which…weren’t really the actual Wakaba either. It’s strange, that he’s seen so many versions of her, but none of them were real.

He glances at Goro, expecting to see blankness, but Goro just looks tense. On edge. Maybe they should get away from it.

Akira walks out into the light.

Once they’re out, Goro says, very tightly, “I’m sorry.”

Akira almost asks _what for?_ before remembering that actually it is pretty obvious what for. “It wasn’t really your fault,” he says, kind of awkwardly.

“Just because it wasn’t my conscious mind that did it doesn’t mean it wasn’t _me,”_ Goro says. His posture is stiff, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I don’t know _why_ it’s doing this, but--” He stops. Exhales. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Akira finally wipes the saliva off his face with the cuff of his coat. It’s cooled down a little, but it’s still warm. “Apology accepted, I guess,” he says. “But I really don’t blame you for any of this. Everyone has weird stuff in the back of their head.” _I definitely do,_ he doesn’t say. “As long as people don’t act on it in reality, it’s fine. Palaces kind of complicate that, but…” He shrugs. “Well, whatever, I’m still not gonna blame you.”

“And will you still not blame me if the next set piece decides to rip out your throat?” Goro says in a low voice.

Akira thinks about it. “I mean, I’d be dead, so I probably wouldn’t be doing much of anything,” he says.

“How can you be so flippant about your _life?”_ Goro snaps. “Does it mean _nothing_ to you?”

Akira tries to rub the back of his neck, but the strain on his damaged shoulder muscle makes him wince and stop. “I don’t _want_ to die,” he says. “It’s just complicated. And my shoulder really hurts, so can we leave now?”

“Of course,” Goro says shortly. “I was about to suggest it too.”

Everything slips into blackness.

The pain’s gone. There’s just the heavy weight of Morgana on his chest, and the heavier atmosphere radiating from Goro, who’s looking out the window again.

Akira dislodges Morgana, who shakes his head awake and says, brightly, “Good morning! How’d it go?”

“It went okay,” Akira says. Is he just never going to tell any of his friends what happens in there? They have to be curious, and he didn’t actually promise Goro he wouldn’t--but it really doesn’t feel like he should. 

Akira gets out of bed, yawns, stretches. Looks over at Goro.

Goro leaves the room without saying a word.

Morgana looks up at Akira. “Did something happen?” he asks.

“Nah, he’s just like that sometimes,” Akira says, which isn’t actually a complete lie. “Shoo, I’m getting dressed.”

As he gets ready, Akira’s mind wanders. From what the roller coaster announcer said about other Persona users, to who that Palace owner might’ve been, to how it wasn’t entirely fear he felt when Loki licked his cheek--

\--back to other Persona users.

Everyone’s got weird stuff in their head. It doesn’t mean anything. 

He can’t really sneak into the bathroom in the middle of the night these days anyway, so there’s no reason at all to think about it, shove it to the back of your head and leave it alone.

It doesn’t mean _anything._


	5. Chapter 5

The roof is hotter than the classrooms, so normally it’s not an ideal place to be at this time of year, but it’s also the only place in the school Akira can have lunch with any amount of privacy, so. Here he is. One curry bread for Morgana, one melon bread for him. Nothing for Goro, who probably wouldn’t be hungry even if he was completely tangible.

Which is to say that Goro _is_ more tangible than yesterday--but not really in a way that benefits anyone except Morgana, who’s decided to occasionally bat at Goro’s shoes just to prove he can.

It might be that any Persona user can touch him now; there’s not really any way of confirming when the only ones nearby are Akira and Morgana. But he definitely still goes through objects, and very carefully poking at Akira’s mom’s hair resulted in nothing. So. Baby steps.

And speaking of other Persona users.

Akira swallows his bite of bread. “So I know you probably don’t want to talk about most of what we see in your Palace, but is it okay to ask about what Wakaba was researching? The announcer mentioned that there were Persona users before you.”

“I’m afraid they never told me much,” Goro says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I got the impression there were two different groups, and none of them used their Personas much anymore, for whatever reason. Certainly none of them could access the Metaverse.”

“Huh,” Akira says. He already knew Yaldabaoth hid a lot of stuff from them, but the rabbit hole keeps going deeper, doesn’t it. “And some of them had multiple Personas, like us?”

“I don’t have multiple Personas the same way you do,” Goro points out. “They did at least tell me no one else had awakened twice like I had.” He sounds a little proud of that. It’s kind of messed up that he’s a little proud of what seemed like a really awful experience. “As for if the others were like you, recruiting demons or fusing them…” He shrugs. “I really couldn’t say. But it sounded like there were very few, in any case.”

Akira taps his fingers against the ground, thinking. “I wonder if there’s a way to contact them,” he says. “Maybe Lavenza knows. She did say there was always something on the other side, maybe that’s what she meant.”

Morgana finishes snarfing down his bread and looks up. “Or Futaba might be able to look into it,” he says. “If her mom worked for a corporation, she might at least remember the name.”

Akira nods. Food for thought, at any rate.

But also he needs actual food, so he gets back to his bread while Morgana delicately wipes crumbs off his whiskers.

\---

 **Futaba:** !!!! i can absolutely look for this stuff  
**Futaba:** i know my mom worked w/ some weird company when i was a kid  
**Futaba:** other persona users tho. what the actual fuck  
**Akira:** I know right?  
**Futaba:** and akechi didn’t feel like mentioning this before?  
**Akira:** He says it was never relevant and he doesn’t know a lot anyway  
**Futaba:** never RELEVANT my ass you just liked knowing stuff we didn’t  
**Akira:** He doesn’t have a good answer for that  
**Futaba:** >:)  
**Futaba:** could they have helped w/ yaldy and maruki?  
**Akira:** Dunno  
**Akira:** If they can’t use the Metaverse then maybe not?  
**Futaba:** hmmmmm  
**Futaba:** i’ll let you know if i find anything  
**Futaba:** until then, good luck with your shit

\---

Lavenza frowns. “I am…uncertain if I am allowed to tell you very much,” she says.

“What could it possibly hurt?” Goro asks. “Besides, if those two groups of Persona users were allowed to interact, why wouldn’t we be?”

Lavenza purses her lips. “The circumstances of their meeting were not determined by my master, and nearly resulted in the destruction of humanity,” she says. “My master and I may sometimes work within the flow of fate, but we do not wish to test it without reason.”

“You do realize that Futaba’s just going to find them anyway,” Akira points out, deciding to ignore the fact that apparently humanity was almost destroyed before and he just kind of missed it. “We only asked you because we thought it might be faster.”

“Well.” Lavenza clears her throat. “Be that as it may.” And she doesn’t follow it up.

After the awkward pause, Akira says, “Can you at least tell us if there’s any news on the labyrinth?”

Lavenza looks slightly relieved. “You are halfway through, I believe,” she says. “And my master has determined something about the center. While there is still no emotional resonance we can discern, there is at least a structure of some kind. It seems uninhabited, however. Unfortunately, that is all.”

“That’s something, I suppose,” Goro mutters.

An uninhabited structure. There’s a lot of bad things that could be, probably. But it’s better than the center of Goro’s heart having nothing in it at all, right?

_Goro Akechi, former Detective Prince. Heart. Labyrinth._

Last time, the fog on the ground was maybe an inch high, if that. Now it brushes the top of Akira’s ankles, and his boots aren’t exactly flat.

Goro frowns. “That’s a little concerning,” he says. “If the rate of growth remains consistent, and we’re halfway through, it might not become a real issue--but if it grows faster as we go, who knows.”

Akira’s inclined to agree. It’s not like they can do anything about it now, though.

The next dead end seems similar to the play. Another stage, of sorts, though the backdrops are completed and so is the floor--as they get closer, Akira can vaguely tell that they look more sculpted than painted. Mementos again, red and black, the tendrils having physical form now rather than being flat with the rest. More bustling Shadows, too. But there are some more substantial differences. No audience seating, for one; the black floor isn’t nearly as crowded. For another, there are tall lights pointed at the stage, Shadows adjusting them to seemingly unnoticeable degrees. And most obviously, there’s a camera.

It doesn’t look like the camera from the quiz show, though. It’s smaller, more portable, no mass of cables following it. The operator seems to be constantly adjusting it too, muttering to himself about angles and apertures.

One of the bustling Shadows glances over at them. “Oh, finally,” she says. “Took you guys long enough. Get dressed and get on set, we’re burning daylight.”

Akira briefly wonders why the Shadows always seem to be in a hurry here before his mask disappears and is replaced by what look like a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

He looks down--the Joker outfit is gone again. But this time, he’s seen the clothes before: the lab coat, black shirt, and black pants that Wakaba wore in the second roller coaster, complete with lanyard and ID. He checks the ID, and the picture is still her, thankfully. His hair doesn’t seem to have changed. He _is_ technically wearing heeled boots, but they’re honestly not that different from the regular Joker boots, so that’s nothing new.

He looks over at Goro, and is unsurprised to see the black mask outfit, though the combination of their clothes is a bit…ominous.

Akira flashes a smile. “This place hasn’t managed to kill me yet,” he says, as cheerfully as he can muster.

“That is less comforting than you think it is,” Goro says icily, and they walk towards the set.

Before they get onto the fake Mementos, one of the Shadows hands Goro a gun. After a moment of consideration, he takes out the magazine.

Several real-looking bullets fall out. Goro finishes emptying it, then puts the empty magazine back into the gun and gives the Shadow a very intense glare.

“It’s for _realism,”_ the Shadow protests. “It’ll help you get in the right mindset!”

“Whatever mindset you’re picturing, I can assure you I don’t want it,” Goro snaps. “Don’t try this again.”

The Shadow holds up her hands. “Fine, fine,” she says, and as she walks away she mutters something about divas.

“Uh, thanks,” Akira says, a little awkwardly.

“Not that I’m planning to pull the trigger, whatever this scenario is, but if we lose control of our actions again then I’d rather take precautions,” Goro says. He double-checks the magazine.

This _does_ look kind of like a film set. Akira has a very clear image of how a performance might go, and yeah, it’s a good thing Goro thought ahead.

They both step up onto the set. 

“Okay, get in the middle,” the cameraman calls out. “Let’s start with Kurusu standing and Akechi aiming the gun.” And he takes the camera off the tripod and moves a lot closer to the set.

They get into position, more or less. Akira’s really not sure what he’s supposed to be doing besides standing, if they haven’t been given a script. Is this improv?

The cameraman frowns a little. “Did you guys just wake up or what?” he says. “C’mon, the expressions are vital. At least _try.”_

Oh, it’s not a movie at all, is it. At least that means they seem to be in control of themselves. Akira tries hard to remember if he ever learned anything at Ann’s shoots, but he wasn’t exactly studying the craft.

Still, expressions come easier in the Metaverse, emotions are easier to tap into. 

Akira thinks about what he knows of Wakaba Isshiki--and doesn’t put on fear. He puts on worry.

_She cared about him, at least a little. She tried to stop them from hurting him. She wouldn’t have wanted to die, but…she wouldn’t have seen the assassin first. She’d have seen the kid._

Goro’s face tightens. If that’s the reaction he’s having now, or just a copy of the one he had back then--Akira can’t tell.

 _“Much_ better,” the cameraman says approvingly. He takes shot after shot, moving around them for what seems like every possible angle.

“All right, let’s move things up a bit,” the cameraman says eventually. “Kurusu, get closer.”

Akira takes a few steps forward. They were about five feet apart before; now he’s almost within touching range. He reaches a hand towards Goro’s shoulder.

Goro recoils, just a little, and his grip on the gun trembles.

 _That’s_ gotta be an old expression. What’s Goro thinking right now? Frustration that he has to go through this again? Regretful for his past actions? Unhappy that Akira has to see this?

“Good, good,” the cameraman says, the shutter clicking over and over. “Akechi, withdraw more.”

Goro takes a step back. Breathes. His eyes sharpen, and the gun steadies.

Wakaba _did_ care for Goro. But she loved her daughter, and she wouldn’t have risked her daughter’s safety to save the soul of someone else, even another child. Akira lets the worry fade from his face, swallows, and replaces it with determination. He pulls his arm back.

“Yeah, that’s good,” the cameraman says, nodding as he takes picture after picture. “Okay, so the workshop doesn’t have the suit ready, we’re doing those shots later. Let’s get straight into the aftermath. Kurusu, go a couple steps back and get into a crabwalk.”

Akira follows the instructions. He’s glad he doesn’t have to do another fight, at any rate. It’s a little unpleasant, knowing that he’s imitating the final actions of a dead woman, but--they have to do this. Finally, he puts on fear.

“And Akechi, yeah, aim the gun at her head. Perfect.”

Goro staggers a little, not standing quite as straight. The hand that isn’t holding the gun clutches his side. The hand that _is_ holding the gun is aimed straight at Akira.

 _What were you thinking,_ Akira wonders. _Did you have any attachment to her? Did you wonder what would happen to Futaba?_

The cameraman captures every angle.

“Okay, we’re thinking of doing some variations here,” he says. “They aren’t all strictly accurate, but we’ve got some room to play around a little and see what has the best look, so…Kurusu, get on your knees. Akechi, get closer.”

Akira levers himself up onto his knees. The position is easier to maintain, at any rate. Goro walks up to him, raises the gun a little higher. Puts the barrel directly against Akira’s forehead.

Akira’s breath catches in his throat.

Goro pointing a gun at him in general is one thing, but--this is different. This is uncomfortably familiar to the things he tries not to think about too much, and the fact that this is a pantomime of Wakaba’s death makes him feel a little sick. Those thoughts are bad enough, the way his heart rate is rising at the press of cold metal against his forehead is bad enough, putting them _here_ is a disgrace to her memory.

But it’s hard to remember that, when he’s theoretically a microsecond away from Goro putting a bullet in his brain and he’s desperately focusing on hiding how much that turns him on.

God, even the position is--

Goro’s eyes are completely unreadable.

Suddenly, Goro flinches like he’s snapping out of something, aims the gun towards the wall, ejects the magazine.

More bullets fall out.

Goro looks at the bustling Shadows, looks _furious._ “I _said_ not to fucking _do that,”_ he snaps.

The cameraman actually rolls his eyes. “It’s _supposed_ to enhance the performance,” he says. “Isn’t it harder to get in the mood when you know it isn’t real?”

“I’ve got a good imagination,” Goro says grimly. “And I already killed him once, I know what _that_ felt like.”

Akira simultaneously doesn’t and really, really does want to know what that felt like.

Is the knowledge that the gun was loaded thrilling, or horrifying? At this point Akira has to admit that it’s both. Goro wouldn’t have fired, obviously. But if Goro thought the gun wasn’t loaded and the cameraman _told_ him to fire--

It sends an uncomfortable shiver down Akira’s spine. He prays Goro doesn’t notice.

“Whatever,” the cameraman mutters. “Just put the gun on him again and let’s keep going.”

Goro exhales. Again, he rests the barrel of the gun against Akira’s forehead.

Akira doesn’t think about the gun going lower until it’s between his lips, doesn’t, doesn’t.

It feels like it takes forever before the cameraman finishes taking this set of photos. But eventually he does, and then he says, “All right, let’s try…Akechi, grab his hair.”

Goro looks sharply at the cameraman. “That is _not_ how it went,” he snaps. “If the point of this is to show him what happened then there’s no need for these ridiculous tangents. It’s a dishonor to Isshiki.”

The cameraman shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s a good excuse,” he says.

Goro takes a deep breath. Exhales. “If I do this, will you will let us move on?” he asks, his voice very tight.

The cameraman nods. “Just this one last set, then the shoot’s over,” he says. 

“Okay,” Goro says. Breathes in, out. “Hurry and get it over with.”

And he grabs a fistful of Akira’s hair, tilting Akira’s face up just slightly.

Akira tries to portray the fear Wakaba must have felt, he really does. But this isn’t actually about Wakaba, is it. Or it is and isn’t at the same time--metaphors again. Layers on layers of thoughts given physical form, tangled up with each other until the exact origin isn’t clear.

Strange, how Akira’s having a hard time showing fear right now, but it seems like Goro has it down.

The cameraman doesn’t comment on their expressions at all. He just takes pictures, makes approving noises. If the last set seemed to take forever then this one takes forever and a day.

 _Hey, Goro,_ Akira doesn’t say. _Usually at this point in the fantasy you’re already unzipping your pants, but I guess reality never matches up, huh._

“All right, that’s a wrap,” the cameraman says finally, stepping back from the set. “Got some good shots in. Just maybe work on that attitude, huh? Try and learn from Kurusu, he’s good at taking instruction.”

Goro doesn’t respond. He just lets go of Akira and walks off the stage, tossing the gun to a nearby Shadow.

Akira breathes for a moment. Stands up. Follows.

Both their clothes return to normal as the set sinks into the ground and the Shadows explode.

Goro walks towards the receding dead end without a word. Akira quickly catches up, not sure if he should say something, or if anything he says right now would be well received.

“Goro,” he starts.

“We’re moving on,” Goro says tightly. “That’s all.”

Okay.

They move on.

The fog licks at their feet.

The next dead end looks like a place they’ve been together before. Rows of crane games make a sort of wall around several arcade machines, the electronic sounds of digital destruction filling the air. Younger Shadows occupy most of the machines, jockeying with each other for who gets to play next. The only one that’s open is the largest, a big screen with two ports underneath it, each holding a fake gun tethered to the machine.

GUN’EM DOWN: THE REAL DEAL, the screen says, in red letters over a teal background. In smaller letters, it reads CO-OP MODE.

Akira feels a slight sense of relief at the subtitle.

The screen flashes in attract mode as they walk up to it. When they each pick up a gun, the screen flickers into a 16-bit portrayal of Mementos, red and black and heavily pixelated. Each of the upper corners contains three black hearts. Dark blue text declares, GAME START! FIRST WAVE!

A pixelated rendition of a yellow-eyed man in a business suit staggers onto the screen.

Goro fires. The Shadow screams and disappears in a burst of black pixels.

Next comes two of them, exactly the same as the first. Akira and Goro fire at the same time, taking both of them out.

Tinny, energetic music plays all the while. 

Another two Shadows, then three, then four. A few of them are women, but beyond that, they all look the same. All of them scream as they vanish.

LEVEL COMPLETE! flashes on the screen. RANK 1: FLUNKY!

THIS ISN’T SO HARD!

SECOND WAVE!

The cheesy, fake sound of electronic gunshots comes faster and faster, mixing with the Shadows’ screams. These ones take two hits to kill, and instead of disappearing immediately, their corpses fall to the ground for a few seconds before dissolving.

LEVEL COMPLETE! RANK 2: THUG!

THESE PEOPLE MEAN NOTHING TO YOU!

THIRD WAVE!

Three hits. The corpses are piling up, making it harder to hit each enemy, and some of the Shadows are managing to get a little closer to the screen. But Akira and Goro manage, blasting away nonstop.

LEVEL COMPLETE! RANK 3: HITMAN!

YOU’RE A NATURAL AT THIS!

FOURTH WAVE!

Four hits. Even though the corpses disappear after a few seconds, the sheer amount of them is taking up over half the screen. A few of the Shadows get within swiping distance; a tinny roar plays and a few drops of blood splatter the screen as Akira takes a hit. One of his hearts crumbles.

LEVEL COMPLETE! RANK 4: PET MURDERER!

HE’S SO PROUD OF YOU!

FIFTH WAVE!

Five hits, and it’s legitimately difficult now. This can’t represent the total number of Goro’s victims--by now there’ve been hundreds of pixel Shadows, and Akira once did some research, found that there was a combined total of maybe fifty or so known mental shutdown or psychotic breakdown victims, the vast majority of whom survived. Of course there must’ve been more cases like Wakaba’s, or ones that just weren’t reported--but not _hundreds._ It can’t have been hundreds.

Maybe it felt like hundreds.

LEVEL COMPLETE! RANK 5: SERIAL KILLER!

WOW, YOU’RE REALLY ENJOYING THIS, HUH!

SIXTH WAVE!

Six hits. Akira’s down to one heart and Goro’s at two; Shadows are crawling out of the walls and ceiling to get over the massive pile of bodies. The music feels louder, more grating to the ears. The screams have reached an almost unbearable cacophony.

LEVEL COMPLETE! RANK 6: PSYCHOPATH!

MAYBE THERE’S JUST SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU!

SEVENTH WAVE!

Seven hits, and after about fifteen seconds Akira loses his last heart; the gun in his hand makes a sound like it’s powering down, and he drops it back into the port.

Goro’s down to one heart, but still firing. Akira looks at him, and his jaw is very slightly tight, but that’s all.

LEVEL COMPLETE! RANK 7: RABID DOG!

YOU’D BE BETTER OFF IF SOMEONE JUST PUT YOU DOWN!

EIGHTH WAVE!

Eight hits. The bodies have stopped disappearing, and crowd the screen entirely, but new Shadows keep clambering over them. Goro can’t keep up; finally, one swipes at the screen again, and the last heart crumbles, and the screen flashes over and over.

YOU LOSE! YOU LOSE! YOU LOSE!

“I get the _point_ already,” Goro snaps, and throws his gun through the screen.

The images flicker before going black, the music cutting off, the lights around the frame going out. It all sinks into the floor without a sound.

The dead end pulls open with a screech that’s really getting on Akira’s nerves at this point.

“…I don’t think you’re a psychopath, for the record,” Akira says, because it feels like he has to say _something._

Goro huffs out a breath. “I don’t either,” he says, crossing his arms. “I looked into it, I don’t fit the profile.”

It’s all kinds of awful that Goro wondered about it enough he had to look into it in the first place, though.

Akira doesn’t know how to express all the things that keep piling up in his throat. How do you _tell_ someone that like half of what they think about themselves isn’t true? Or that just because they survived bad shit doesn't mean it’s over now and they don’t have to deal with it anymore? He’s never been great with words to begin with, and this needs words he’s not sure he has. 

“I really do think you should talk to someone after all this is over,” Akira says. “Takemi might know someone trustworthy.” Or Maruki, but that’s hardly an option.

Goro’s mouth twists. “What, tell them _everything?”_ he says. “They’d give me a referral to a much less friendly type of doctor.”

“I actually do have a plan for proving Morgana can talk,” Akira says. It involves multiple rooms and passing messages. “And hopefully they’d listen to Takemi. But even just the childhood stuff would be useful. You could, I don’t know, tell them everything age 15 and up is off limits. They wouldn’t force you to talk about it if you didn’t want to.”

“As I told you, Joker, I managed this far,” Goro says icily. “I can handle myself.”

Akira looks at him, very tiredly. “Goro, you have a _Palace,”_ he says.

Goro doesn’t seem to have a response to that.

Eventually, Akira says, “I think that’s enough for today.” It doesn’t feel like they did as much, but--he kind of wants to get out of here.

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night,” Goro says. 

Everything slips into blackness.

Before Morgana can even ask if they made progress, Akira boops him on the nose and says, “You don’t need to ask every time, you know.”

Morgana backs up with an affronted expression. “How else am I supposed to know how it’s going? You won’t tell me any details!”

Akira gently shoves Morgana off of him and stands up. “That’s not up to me,” he says. “Besides, it’s really not that interesting. Goro’s pretty boring.”

“Really?” Morgana says, cocking his head. “Because you told the others it was ‘kind of depressing’.”

Akira ignores Goro’s side-eye and pulls at Morgana’s face the way Futaba does when she’s vaguely bullying him. Morgana reacts with the expected indignation, and the conversation is apparently forgotten.

The _other_ conversation is very much not forgotten--though Goro would probably like it to be. But fuck, Akira’s getting so tired of this. Is the reason none of this is getting through to Goro because Akira’s just bad at it, or is Goro just genuinely refusing to listen? Is there _anything_ Akira can do for him besides getting to the center of the labyrinth? He doesn’t even know what good _that_ will do, if all that’s there is an empty building. 

Obviously he’s still going to _try._ Whining about not knowing what to do won’t help, and it won’t even make him feel better. 

But another thought occurs to him--if the labyrinth is still doing chronological order, and they just covered the mental shutdowns, doesn’t that get them to 2016? 

Aren’t they coming up on whatever Goro’s subconscious thinks of Akira?

 _That’s_ something he doesn’t want to think about.

Unfortunately, he’s going to have to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses a custom work skin, so if you've turned those off, please turn them on again. It's best viewed on desktop, but if you are using mobile, please use landscape mode. Thanks to Diana and papersandals for the coding help!

Akira likes to think he’s a good friend. If one of his friends told him a secret, and asked him to not tell anyone else, he’d keep a lid on it until the end of his days. The stuff happening in Goro’s Palace qualifies as a secret, he’s pretty sure.

But Goro never did _say_ it was secret. He just doesn’t want to talk about it.

He did not, technically, _say_ Akira wasn’t allowed to talk about it to anyone _else._

Which is a really weaselly way of thinking about it--and if it was any other kind of secret Akira wouldn’t think of it at all, wouldn’t even consider it. But it isn’t any other kind of secret. The stuff in Goro’s Palace is increasingly dangerous and personally uncomfortable, and if the chronology is right and the part of the labyrinth they do tonight _is_ about Akira then he’s kind of. Maybe a little. Somewhat stressed.

And not even _Morgana_ knows, Morgana usually knows _everything--_

And Akira would just really, really like to talk to somebody.

It can’t be Morgana, because he loves Morgana but absolutely does not trust him to not pitch a fit about this stuff; his only options are texting the others, but the idea of bringing this up in a group chat is kind of a nightmare. He doesn’t want _everyone_ knowing about it. It’d be impossible to hide it from Goro, too, whenever they all meet again. 

So. Someone he can text, who he trusts to not tell the others, who wouldn’t ask him prying questions or imply that maybe he’s risking too much here.

Akira lays down the groundwork in the moments between Goro leaving his room and Morgana following, and waits.

A couple hours after school starts, Morgana looks up at Akira and whispers, “He’s gone now.”

Goro did mention sometimes he visits the other classroom--it’s the only time Akira has where he can look at his phone without Goro knowing. Not that Goro would refuse to give him any privacy, if he asked--but Goro would _know_ that Akira wanted privacy, and it’s not hard to figure out what Akira would want to be hiding from him.

Akira gives Morgana a thumbs up and pulls out his phone.

**Akira:** Hey are you busy?  
**Sumire:** Chemistry is very boring, so no! What’s up, senpai?  
**Akira:** I want to talk about Goro’s Palace with someone and it’s kind of a long story but you’re pretty much the best option  
**Sumire:** Oh, I’m flattered :) Is something wrong?  
**Akira:** Well most of it’s not important right now but it kinda seems like his Palace wants to either kill me or just really hurt me  
**Akira:** And both of those options are bad?  
**Akira:** And I’m pretty sure tonight we’re going to get to some stuff that’s about me specifically  
**Akira:** So I’m sort of freaking out a little  
**Sumire:** That sounds awful. I’m so sorry.  
**Sumire:** Have you talked to Akechi-senpai about it?  
**Akira:** He doesn’t want to talk about anything  
**Akira:** Which is its own problem  
**Sumire:** Can you tell me what’s been happening to you?  
**Akira:** I don’t want to say details  
**Akira:** But a couple nights ago something attacked me and I think it almost went really badly  
**Akira:** And you know  
**Akira:** Track record  
**Sumire:** Does it seem like Akechi-senpai wants to hurt you in reality?  
**Akira:** No he’s upset about this stuff too  
**Akira:** But it also kind of seems like he knows why this is happening and he doesn’t want to tell me  
**Sumire:** Maybe if you talked to him about it, his Palace would change.  
**Akira:** I mean that’s a good theory but he really really does not like talking about the stuff in there  
**Akira:** And I don’t know if whatever’s going on can be solved with one conversation  
**Sumire:** I think if you told him you were worried about tonight, he would listen to you.  
**Akira:** I don’t think he believes most of what I tell him  
**Akira:** Like I keep telling him that I want to help him and he just doesn’t seem to get it  
**Sumire:** That sounds very frustrating. But I do think he would believe you if you said you were scared.  
**Akira:** I’m not scared  
**Akira:** Okay maybe I’m a little scared  
**Akira:** No details but it’s a lot more personal than just getting hit by a Shadow  
**Akira:** And there’s no way to heal in there  
**Akira:** I don’t think Goro genuinely wants to kill me but if something goes wrong that might not matter  
**Sumire:** I’m so sorry, senpai. I wish I could help you.  
**Akira:** No it’s helpful just being able to say this stuff to somebody  
**Akira:** I don’t know how Goro would react and I can’t tell Morgana  
**Akira:** Just needed to vent I guess  
**Sumire:** I’m happy to be able to do that for you.  
**Sumire:** But I really do think you should talk to him about it.  
**Akira:** Maybe

Morgana taps Akira’s leg.

**Akira:** Gotta go but thanks  
**Sumire:** No problem, senpai. I hope everything works out :)

Akira doesn’t see Goro come back, but presumably he did, if Morgana gave the signal. He closes the app and pretends to be looking at the teacher.

Without seeing Goro’s face, he doesn’t know if Goro noticed that--and the minutes pass and Goro still doesn’t come into view, which isn’t unusual, but is kind of nerve-wracking right now.

But Goro doesn’t say anything about it during lunch, or on the way home from school, or back at the house, so Akira thinks he’s probably in the clear.

He doesn’t _like_ keeping this a secret from Goro. It curdles in his gut a little, knowing that he’s sort of betraying Goro’s trust a little bit. But he didn’t share details, so that’s fine, right? And it was with Sumire, Goro seems a little more fond of her than he does the others. It was probably an okay thing to do, honestly.

But he’s still not going to mention it. And he doesn’t feel great about that.

Akira considers talking to Goro, he really does. It’s just--Goro seems so upset by it already, he doesn’t want to make things worse. Granted, Goro also seemed to be upset that Akira _wasn’t_ bothered, but…there’s not really a good solution to this. Akira admitting he’s a little scared definitely won’t make Goro feel _better._

Not that anything seems to make Goro feel better.

That night, Lavenza says, “I believe you are two-thirds of the way through the labyrinth. You’re making very good time.”

Goro’s mouth twists. “It’s been five days,” he says. “I don’t know how long Palace infiltrations usually took for the Phantom Thieves, but _I_ would have finished one by now.”

Sae’s and Maruki’s took less time than that, it’s true. But that was mostly because they had so many people they could switch out the vanguard a lot. Even if Goro was stronger than they were, Akira kind of doubts he could solo an entire Palace _that_ quickly. Then it occurs to him that Goro might not have had a choice in the matter, and he feels kinda bad for thinking it.

“As I said, the labyrinth has atypical properties,” Lavenza says calmly. “With no healing abilities, physical injuries must be given greater consideration, and moreover, the psychological effects--”

Goro makes a dismissive gesture. “Yes, we get it, my mind is a shitty nightmare zone, I _know,”_ he says icily. “Is that all?”

“There is a bit of news on the center of the labyrinth,” Lavenza says, seemingly unperturbed by Goro’s demeanor. “Some type of emotional presence has grown, though its precise nature seems to be shifting. I do not think it is a Treasure or a Shadow, but it feels…strange.” She frowns, just slightly. “Sometimes it seems to be hostile, and sometimes it does not. Whether it is a singular cognition or an aspect of the structure, I cannot say. Regardless, if your progress continues at your usual rate, you will be unlikely to encounter it today.”

Akira isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. With their luck, it’ll settle on hostile. But maybe Lavenza will know more tomorrow.

“Lovely,” Goro mutters. “We might get a boss fight after all.”

With no Personas, weapons, or items.

…Akira’s really hoping it doesn’t settle on hostile.

_Goro Akechi, former Detective Prince. Heart. Labyrinth._

The fog is swirling around their calves.

The last couple inches or so are more transparent than the rest, but Akira can’t see his feet anymore. Which still isn’t _that_ bad--and they’re getting close to the end, anyway. It probably won’t be an issue. Probably.

Around the next bend is another familiar sight--though Akira’s only been there personally once, and seen on TV a handful of times. The set of the TV studio, colorful and cheery, where they first met. Or where Akira met Goro, anyway. Goro’d already seen him by then.

Most of the chairs in the audience are already filled by Shadows in Shujin uniforms, including, Akira’s somewhat surprised to see, a male one with short blond hair and a female one with blond pigtails, incongruous against their black forms. The seat next to them is empty. In an instant, his mask disappears and is replaced by fake frames; he glances down to see that his clothes, too, have become his old summer uniform.

Goro’s clothes haven’t changed, but then, they wouldn’t.

For once, the Shadows around don’t tell them to get to their places. And it’s pretty obvious where they’re supposed to go, anyway.

Akira sits down next to the fake Ryuji and Ann. They don’t even look at him. Everyone’s looking at the TV hosts sitting onstage--and then, as Goro walks up to the bright red seating for guests, their blank eyes zero in on him instead.

The Shadow behind the camera holds up three fingers and counts down.

At the silent _one,_ the male host says cheerfully, “And we’re live with the latest rising star in Japan: the Detective Prince himself, Goro Akechi! Give him a hand, folks!”

The crowd claps and cheers, despite not having mouths.

Suddenly, the fog high above the stage shifts.

Akira and Goro look up to see a pair of immense, golden, metallic hands descending. They don’t reach all the way down--they stay poised over the set, unmoving.

He’s seen them before, Akira realizes--though they were a lot farther away, then.

From the fingers on the rightmost hand of Yaldabaoth descend a set of strings, so thin and translucent they’re almost imperceptible. In one sharp movement, they dart onto Akechi, landing on his limbs, head, and hands--then straightening, pulled taut. It happens so quickly Akechi’s only reaction is a momentary flinch. His expression settles into a polite smile; he crosses one leg over the other, folds his hands on his knee. A friendly but formal pose.

The smile doesn’t reach his eyes at all.

Akira almost gets up--but no, that wouldn’t do any good. Even though there aren’t any strings on him, he can’t do anything but sit here and watch, and wait for whatever happens to be over.

“It’s so nice to have you here, Akechi-kun,” the female host says. “You’re quite the story these days! A handsome young fellow coming seemingly out of nowhere to capture the hearts of Japanese youth--and Japanese criminals, of course.” She winks; the audience laughs.

Goro smiles pleasantly. “You’re too kind,” he says.

The male host leans towards him. “No need to be modest, Akechi-kun!” he says. “The story on everyone’s lips, the latest craze, the hot new thing! You’re _everywhere!_ You must be very proud of yourself for coming this far.”

“Fame does have its benefits,” Goro says. “For one thing, the takeout place near my apartment always remembers my order now.” The audience laughs.

God, it makes Akira’s skin crawl to watch this. He’s gotten used to the real Goro, inasmuch as any version of himself Goro decides to show is real, and seeing the plastic one again is profoundly uncomfortable. Even more so because this isn’t Goro putting on an old face; Goro’s being forced to act this way, and what must that feel like?

“I suppose I do feel a bit proud of my work,” Goro continues. “It’s taken a lot of effort to get where I am.”

“Not _your_ effort, of course,” the female host says cheerily. 

One of Yaldabaoth’s fingers twitches, and Goro raises his hand to his face with a titter. “Oh my, was it that obvious?” he says. “Yes, I must admit, I owe all of this to my extremely generous benefactors. I wouldn’t even be on this show if the network wasn’t owned by an acquaintance of theirs.”

The male host nods. “All celebrities are manufactured in one way or another, but you really take the cake,” he says. “Your job, your school, your home, even your clothes; everything about you is a gracious gift that could be taken away at any time. However can you stand it?”

“Oh, I just try not to think about it,” Goro says with a pleasant little smile. “I’ve never really had control over my life in the first place, so this is nothing new. But it helps to tell myself that I have some modicum of power in the situation. They’d have no reason to get rid of me if I’m useful to them, right?”

The audience breaks into uproarious laughter.

A finger moves, and Goro shyly ducks his head. “I know it’s rather silly of me,” he says. “But I’ve grown so used to lying to people, I don’t even notice when I’m doing it to myself.”

Akira’s fingers clench in the fabric of his pants.

Of course this isn’t real. Goro’s never said those words in reality--not at that interview, and not at any other one. But if he’s saying them here then they’re something he _thinks,_ and…Akira wants to storm the set and say, _that’s not a joke, what they did to you was awful and you didn’t deserve it._

But he can’t. Not until this horrible mockery is over.

“Now, Akechi-kun, you’ve been solving an awful lot of crimes lately,” the female host says. “We’re all dying to know how you do it.”

A finger twitches. Goro makes a dismissive gesture. “It’s really not that complicated,” he says. “I already know who the culprits are, so I look for the evidence I already know is there, and pretend I had to think about it. Of course, sometimes the evidence _isn’t_ there, but the other police officers are very helpful in making some when we need it.”

The female host puts her hand to her mouth with an exaggerated gasp. “Are you telling us that some of your investigations aren’t even _real,_ Akechi-kun?” The audience gasps with her.

“That’s just how the world works,” Goro says cheerily. “I don’t really care what it takes to do my job, anyway. I’ve certainly killed enough people to prove that. What’s a little falsified evidence?”

Even the Shadow versions of Ann and Ryuji are laughing. 

“You’re a real piece of work, Akechi-kun,” the male host says, shaking his head. “To think the Detective Prince is a sham through and through! Tell us, is there _anything_ under that artifice of yours?”

With the smallest motion of a finger, Goro shakes his head too. “I haven’t checked in a while, but I don’t believe there is, no,” he says. “I’m barely a person at all, aren’t I? It’s no wonder I find it so easy to kill, if I’m not human to begin with.”

_That’s not true,_ Akira doesn’t say. _There’s no way you don’t know that. How can you think that of yourself? None of what happened to you makes you any less human. Is that genuinely what you think?_

“Truer words were never said,” the female host says warmly. “But why don’t we get some audience participation? Who’s ready to share their own opinions on the so-called Detective Prince?”

Strings fly out from Yaldabaoth’s other hand before Akira can blink.

When they land on him, it feels like he’s being stabbed by razor-sharp needles. They go right through his flesh, maybe down to the bone. It’s _agonizing,_ but he can’t react to it at all, can’t even flinch.

The female host looks out into the crowd and points towards him. “You there!” she calls out. “Why don’t you come on up?”

Akira’s head nods without any input from him. It’s like the needle’s yanking his head up, almost as painfully as when it attached in the first place. He walks up to the set as naturally as a person would, and sits down next to Goro. Every part of him is filled with stabbing pain.

“You look like a smart young man,” the male host says. “What are your thoughts on the shallow imitation of humanity sitting next to you?”

Akira puts his hand to his chin in apparent thought, sending spikes of agony throughout them. “I feel like I know him better than most people, so my opinion’s pretty well-informed,” he says, even though Akira didn’t say anything at all. “And I have to say, that guy’s a mess. Maybe he used to be decent at a couple things, but these days he can’t do anything without my help.”

Akira slams against the wall in his head and doesn’t yell, _That’s not what I think about you at all! None of this is real!_

Goro titters. “I really am sorry to be such a burden on you,” he says. “Your ceaseless generosity must have its limits eventually. Even two months ago, you spent far too much time trying to make me think I had any value to you. You really needn’t have bothered, I never believed it.”

Akira gives a dismissive wave. “Well, _that_ was to see how desperate you were for attention,” he says. “It was actually pretty funny to watch you pretend you didn’t spend every night hoping I would call you. You were _so_ grateful for even a scrap of my time, it was hard not to burst out laughing whenever you acted like you were done for the evening.”

Akira feels sick. _Is that really how you think I see you? Is that the impression I gave you? This has to be an exaggeration. You can’t really think that's how I feel. Can you?_

Both of the hosts laugh. “He really doesn’t hold anything back, does he!” the female host declares. “Any words in your defense, Akechi-kun?”

Goro shakes his head. “All true, I’m afraid,” he says. “Though that’s just the surface. You have to look deeper than the more _pedestrian_ insecurities if you really want to get to the rotten core. Which you have, haven’t you? Or at least you’re close to it.”

One of Goro’s hands slips up, alights on Akira’s chin. Brushes a thumb just beneath Akira’s lower lip.

“I talk a big game about wanting you out of danger,” Goro murmurs, “but in truth--”

He stops. His face, his body, all movement, frozen. 

One of his eyes twitches. Very slightly, his hand shakes.

His teeth start to clench. His breath gets just a little ragged.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and in one fast movement he rips his arm away from Akira with a bitten-back scream.

The strings on it snap with a _twang,_ springing off into the air. Little dots of blood well up from where they were attached. With his free hand, Goro yanks at the strings on his other arm, pulling them off.

The audience reacts in shock. “Akechi-kun, what are you doing?” the female host cries.

Goro finishes ripping all the strings off of him, leaving trails of blood down his arms and legs, dripping down his face. _“Enough of this!”_ he screams, his face contorted into fury. “I am _done_ being forced into whatever ridiculous machinations my mind wants to put me through! Stop this hideous charade and _get out of my way!”_

“There’s really no need to--” the male host starts.

_“Shut up!”_ Goro snarls, advancing on the hosts. He grabs the male one by the collar of his shirt. “This is _my_ Palace, isn’t it? _Do as I fucking say!”_

In an instant, all the Shadows explode, leaving Goro holding air. Yaldabaoth’s hands dissolve; Akira slumps onto the ground as the strings vanish and everything sinks into the floor.

Goro looks at Akira. Breathes in, out, ragged, uneven. “Are you okay?” he asks in a low voice.

“I--yeah,” Akira says, getting to his feet. His clothes have returned to the Joker outfit. “I’m fine.” He’s _not,_ actually, but not in the way Goro means, probably.

“Good,” Goro says. He looks at the dead end. It recedes almost obediently. “Let’s move on.”

But Akira’s had enough too. “Goro, you _know_ that’s not what I think about you,” he says.

Goro gives a huff of a breath. “Yes, _that’s_ what you’re focusing on,” he says. “Of course I know. You’re such a fucking saint you can’t think the worst of _anybody_ if you’ve decided they need your _help.”_

“That’s not what I meant,” Akira says. “I don’t think you’re-- _weak_ or whatever for needing help, I definitely don’t think I’m _better_ than you--”

Goro laughs. It’s an ugly, humorless little thing. “Save the psychoanalysis for when we’re done with this place,” he says. “You can try to dissect my every thought process _later,_ Joker, let’s _go.”_ He starts to walk to the opened path.

Akira grabs Goro’s shoulder. “Goro--” he starts.

Goro rips his hand away. _“Don’t touch me,”_ he snarls.

Akira stands there, looking at him. “Goro, you’re bleeding,” he says quietly.

Goro glances down, as if he’s only just noticed.

He exhales. The blood and tiny holes in his clothes fade away as if they were never there.

“Just get moving, Joker,” Goro says tiredly.

Akira doesn’t really have any other choice.

They walk in silence for a while. It feels like a longer walk than usual, though whether that’s because of an increase in physical distance isn’t clear. Eventually, they pass the next turn.

The next dead end is nothing but a blank wall.

No door, no visible set piece, no Shadows, until:

In the air a few feet ahead of them, at roughly chest level, appears a rectangle.

Not a physical object, like a wooden block; a two-dimensional, cream-colored rectangle with a thin black outline, maybe about three feet wide and one foot tall. It floats in placid, unmoving silence.

Akira tries to get a look at it from the side, but it doesn’t seem to have any, thinner than any piece of paper down to the molecular level. He gives it an experimental poke. It feels like glass, or maybe plastic, hard and smooth and inflexible. 

Akira’s about to suggest moving on and examining the wall instead when suddenly, thin black letters start to appear, unfurling from the top left corner.

Life's all about choices, isn't it?

“Uh,” Akira says. “I guess?”

The words vanish, and are replaced by new ones.

Everyone chooses their own actions. Good, bad, neutral. Some choices are meaningless, but sometimes the consequences are very serious, and ultimately it is always you who made them.

“I _know_ that,” Goro snaps. “I have never once thought my choices were not my own. Don’t patronize me.”

It’s not always easy to tell which choices will lead you to which path, and where that path will lead you in the end.

“I think this is another game,” Akira says slowly. “Futaba would know more about it than I do.” But he can’t call on her now.

Goro Akechi has made all his choices, but Akira Kurusu has more awaiting him. There are three paths ahead of you, each with their own decisions to be made. Clear all of them, and the true route will be revealed.

“Yeah, this is definitely more Futaba’s style than mine,” Akira says. He feels a little uneasy.

At the dead end, behind the rectangle, the wall suddenly pulls apart with the sound of dragging metal, revealing three different openings. What lies beyond them is still murky, hard to discern.

The first choice determines the path. You’ll come back here after each one, so don’t worry about restoring a save.

Akira Kurusu, here is your first question.

What does Goro Akechi see you as?

Three more rectangles, smaller but otherwise the same, appear centered above the first, the text on them already finished:

Enemy

Rival

Victim

“This is ridiculous,” Goro says icily. “If the goal of this is to just make me _tell_ him, then--”

Now, now! This is a single-player game!

One of the side walls pulls apart into a yawning void. Out of it comes a long, oversized arm, covered in familiar black-and-white stripes and ending in familiar sharp fingers. At lightning speed, the hand wraps around Goro’s torso, yanking him sideways in one powerful movement.

It happens too fast--Akira tries to grab Goro’s arm, but he’s out of reach in an instant, pulled into the void before Akira can do anything--the last Akira sees of him is his face contorting from startled to angry, shouting, _“Hey!”_ \--and Akira’s hand closes onto nothing while the wall reforms into a solid, smooth mass.

Akira runs at the wall, bangs on it with both fists, even though he knows that’s unlikely to do anything. “Goro!” he shouts. _“Goro!”_

Nothing happens. The wall is immovable and silent.

Akira takes a deep breath. He turns back to the floating rectangles.

The top three haven’t changed, but the bottom one has returned to a previous message:

Enemy

Rival

Victim

What does Goro Akechi see you as?

Ahead, the fog blurring the three paths fades away, and Akira can see a bit of what they lead to: on the left, dark red walls with twisting black tendrils and a faint breeze. In the middle, the comforting sight of booths, stools, a counter, a warm brown backdrop. On the right, harshly-lit dark gray with a single metal table and two metal chairs.

Enemy, rival, victim.

Try to avoid the bad ends! GAME START!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses a custom work skin, so if you've turned those off, please turn them on again. It's best viewed on desktop, but if you are using mobile, please use landscape mode. Thanks to Diana and papersandals for the coding help!
> 
> This chapter contains extreme violence with sexual overtones. You might want to re-read the tags if you've forgotten them.

Akira stares up at the floating boxes of text. _Enemy, Rival, Victim._ “Okay,” he says, mostly to himself. “I just have to...answer multiple-choice questions, I guess? I can do that.” He doesn’t like the look of the path on the right, but he’ll deal with that when he gets there.

Might as well start from the top. He reaches up and taps _Enemy_.

The sound of rumbling draws his attention back to the three paths. A shimmering barrier rises up, blocking the middle and right-hand exits, leaving only the red-and-black one on the left. The sound of a faint breeze grows louder, and he can barely hear the whispering of the collective unconscious, inviting him in.

Okay.

As soon as he walks past the edges of the wall, it closes behind him with a sound like crashing stone. He’s ensconced in a twisting tunnel of Mementos, now, right down to the train tracks. He doesn’t see any Shadows around.

Down the tunnel he walks. It curves right, and he follows.

Beyond the curve stands a figure in blue and black, holding a serrated sword. Well, it did say “enemy”.

Goro’s eyes seem to momentarily flash red before they settle into yellow. “It’s been a while, _Joker,”_ he says. “December, wasn’t it? The only time I _really_ got to fight you. That little scuffle in Mementos was barely a warmup.”

Akira looks around, but there don’t seem to be any rectangles. Are there supposed to be any yet?

“Looking for that little framing device I’ve put up?” Goro says lightly. “It’ll show up when it needs to. Funny, isn’t it? The idea that you can _win_ a conversation. Of course, it’s easy when you just have to pick from options you didn’t even think of, but still, it all boils down to victory and defeat. The laws of society, condensed into multiple choice.”

“There’s more to society than that,” Akira says. He stays light on his feet, waiting. That sword looks sharp. 

_“Society_ isn’t here right now,” Goro says in a low voice. The whispers of Mementos echo in the breeze. “It’s just you and me, as it should be. No friends to back you up, no tricks up your sleeve. I lost to you because of factors beyond my control, and they’re all gone now.”

Three rectangles appear at Akira’s side.

You lost because you weren't good enough.

Another duel, is it?

I don't want to fight you.

…what happens if he picks the wrong one?

The first one’s definitely out; it’s not even something he’s thought. The second one…maybe. The third one would honestly be ideal, but he doesn’t know how well this Goro would take it.

How much time does he even get to decide? Goro’s looking kind of impatient.

 _I hope this works,_ Akira thinks, and taps option two.

A small burst of white light appears over the rectangles, and they disappear.

Goro smiles like a knife. “Close,” he says. “Duels are supposed to be _honorable,_ they have _rules._ And honestly, Joker, I just want to grind your face into the dirt.”

A sudden weight appears in Akira’s hand, and he glances down to see a dagger in the moment before Goro charges him.

He parries automatically, immensely grateful that even now his instincts haven’t faded. Dull red metal clashes against black.

Even with the blades between them, their faces are only a handful of inches apart. “That unfortunate breakdown in Shido’s Palace wasn’t my finest hour, but much of it still applies,” Goro says. “It’s even _worse_ now, actually, because then you defeated me _again._ I can never win against you, can I? In oh so many ways you are _always_ the victor, Joker, and I’m sick and tired of it.” His eyes glint in the Mementos gloom.

The sword is pushing minutely closer to Akira’s chest; he pushes back with the dagger as hard as he can, but only gains a little ground. “You were outnumbered,” Akira says. “I don’t know if I would’ve won if it was just me against you. Maybe I won the duel, but you were holding back. And it’s not like I _enjoyed_ what happened in Shido’s Palace.” 

Which is the understatement of the century. Akira felt genuinely sick afterwards, had to put off the calling card for three whole days. He couldn’t get Goro’s voice out of his head. Couldn’t stop seeing how Goro’s face through the broken mask went from desperate to resigned, like he’d expected this would happen eventually.

“Oh yes, you felt _so_ sorry for me,” Goro says, his voice dripping with insincerity. “And then you got to spend a whole month watching the poor tragic figure have nothing besides you and your little gang. It must’ve felt _great_ to see me brought so low.”

He aims a kick at Akira’s shin, making Akira off-balance for just a second, and almost slashes at Akira’s ribs before Akira leaps back.

Akira raises his dagger again, ready for another attack, but for now Goro just stands there, sword out.

“You _know_ I never thought of you like that,” Akira says. God, he’s been trying to keep his frustration in check but _when is Goro going to get it._ “The only upside of that shitty month was getting to spend time with you like normal friends. I was happy to be around you because I _genuinely like you.”_ And for a moment he’s terrified he’s overplayed his hand--but if Goro picked up on it, he doesn’t say.

Goro rolls his eyes. “You like fixing people,” he says. “My brand of tragedy must make me like catnip to you. If you refuse to admit that, _fine,_ but even you can’t pretend to be an expert on what _I_ feel.”

He lunges again.

Akira’s already got his dagger up; metal clashes once more. It almost seems like there are sparks coming off the blades.

“And what I feel, what I _always_ feel, is _hatred,”_ Goro growls.

If you hate me, why did you keep coming to the jazz club with me?

I know I keep saying this but _please_ talk to somebody.

It doesn't have to be.

Akira doesn’t need both hands on his dagger--he taps option three.

White light.

Goro gives a small, utterly humorless laugh. “See, it’s you saying things like that that makes it even easier,” he says. “By now you’ve seen almost the entire nightmare of my life; I’ve experienced enough rage to awaken a Persona _twice,_ and you think I can just let go of that because some do-gooder _says_ I can? You’ve experienced your share of hardship, but you barely understand a _fraction_ of what it’s like to live the way I have. And you want me to just _stop._ Is it any wonder I hate you as much as I do?”

The sword presses closer and closer to Akira’s face. But he still has a hand free, and even if he lacks Makoto’s brass knuckles he can still land a decent punch to Goro’s stomach.

Goro doubles over with a brief wheeze as his grip on the sword loosens; Akira slams a knee up against Goro’s fists, and the sword is knocked away entirely.

Akira grabs the fallen sword before Goro can, but doesn’t raise it. “That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I know it’ll take a long time and maybe it won’t ever go away completely, but you _can_ feel better, I _know_ you can. But you _won’t_ if you don’t _try.”_

Goro’s eyes seem to flicker red again as he straightens. “You’re blessed enough to not know this, so I’ll do you the favor of explaining it to you,” he says. “Anger is a comfort. It is a shield between you and the world. It is the only thing that has kept me functioning these last eleven years, and if I cast it away, I will have nothing left.”

I can help you find something new.

You have me.

Thinking like that will only make it worse.

None of the new options seem _bad--_ but there’s only one that’s _right,_ so…the third one could maybe be a little antagonistic, Akira’s not sure he’s brave enough for the second one, maybe option one?

White light.

“Your scraps again?” Goro says icily. “It’s cute you think I’d be able to last a day in a life cobbled together from castoffs and pity. This path is called _enemy,_ Joker. You might be the sharpest point of it, but the _world_ is my enemy. If you take away what few defenses I have, it will devour me.”

Goro moves _fast,_ much faster than Akira expected; he shoves Akira to the ground, knocking the sword out of his hand. In an instant he’s got Akira pinned, sharp gauntlets digging into Akira’s wrists, a knee between his legs. The dagger’s useless if he can’t move his hand.

Akira shoves away the part of him that has his heart beating faster and his mouth going dry. 

The rectangles appear right next to his hand, just close enough for him to reach.

Interesting position you've got there.

Your battles are my battles.

The only enemy you have left is your own mind.

As hard as he can, Akira slams his fingers against option three.

White light.

“Shido’s gone, Goro,” Akira says quietly. “His conspiracy has lost power. Barely anyone even remembers you exist. You’re _safe._ The only reason you think you’re not is because living like that for so long messed with your head that you can’t tell the behaviors that used to keep you alive aren’t needed anymore.” Akira’s no psychiatrist, but he can tell that much, at least.

For a long moment, Goro just stares at him, breath labored.

“…and what would you have me do about that,” Goro says in a low voice.

“Right now, all you have to do is help me get through the labyrinth,” Akira says steadily. “Once we’ve cleared it and the real you is out of here, I can look into getting you actual help. You can’t live like this anymore. I don’t think you even _want_ to live like this.”

Goro lets go of Akira’s wrists. Sits back.

“I know what I want,” Goro says quietly. “But I’m not likely to get it.”

Akira shifts backwards, slips out from under Goro and stands up. He holds his hand out.

“Whatever it is, I’m going to help you,” Akira says. “Not because I like fixing people. Because I like _you.”_

After a moment, Goro takes his hand. Lets himself be pulled to his feet. Gives a faint, wry smile.

“Perhaps the real me will believe you eventually,” he says.

Akira gives a faint smile of his own. “Hopefully therapy will help with that too.”

From nowhere, a fanfare plays. A larger rectangle appears next to them.

Enemy route clear! Congratulations!

“Best get moving,” Goro says. “Good luck with the others. They’re not quite the same as me, but…similar principles, probably.” He waves.

Akira blinks, and suddenly he’s back at the dead end.

It hasn’t opened yet; the three tunnels are still there, and so are the rectangles. The tunnel on the left, though, has gone black, impossible to see into. And the _Enemy_ rectangle is grayed out.

Two remaining, then. 

That wasn’t so bad, honestly. Some of the choices weren’t obvious, but he got them all right somehow, and Goro didn’t actually hurt him any. And he’d much rather interact with an aspect of Goro than with some cheerfully repugnant announcer, anyway.

So. Once more.

Akira taps _Rival._

The shimmering barrier returns, covering the right-hand path. Not that Akira particularly wants to go there yet anyway.

He walks to the central tunnel.

The faint scent of coffee hits him before he even crosses the threshold; it brings him right back to days of hangouts and study dates and Sojiro showing him the ropes. Not necessarily easier days, but warmer ones, full of people who cared about him and problems that could be solved by teamwork and calling cards.

Goro’s already sitting at one of the booths.

He smiles at Akira and gives a little wave. Already vastly different from the last one. Different clothes, too; the sweatervest and khaki combo that Akira had always figured was meant to make him seem disarming and nonthreatening. Or maybe that’s just Goro’s fashion sense. Or maybe Goro’s fashion sense is always based on tactics rather than actual preference. Akira never asked.

The yellow eyes, though, are the same.

“Hello, Kurusu,” Goro says pleasantly. “Care for a game?”

There’s a chess set on the table in front of him. Black pieces facing towards him, white towards the empty seat.

Akira sits across from him. “Hey, Goro,” he says. “Sorry, I don’t really know how to play.” 

Goro’s mouth turns down. “Ah, that’s right,” he says, sounding disappointed. “Well, there are plenty of other games we could play.”

Monopoly?

Billiards?

Star Forneus?

Monopoly takes forever and Star Forneus is single-player. Akira taps option two.

White light.

Goro’s face brightens. “Yes, that sounds lovely,” he says. “We’ll just need a quick background change.”

Around them, the world shifts into the main area of Penguin Sniper.

Instead of sitting at a booth, they’re standing next to one of the billiards tables, two cues and a ball set already laid out. The room seems uninhabited.

Goro removes the plastic divider around the balls, picks up a cue. “It’s been a while since we played this,” he says. “Well, it’s been longer for you than it has for me. But it’s definitely been some time since just the two of us played. Group outings are charming, but I always preferred one-on-one with you.” He smiles. Pleasantly.

“You can drop the act, you know,” Akira says. “I know this isn’t you.” He honestly was friends with the Detective Prince. But he prefers the sharper edges and blunter words of the Goro he knows now.

Goro looks thoughtful. “Isn’t it?” he says. “At least a little. I think I _wanted_ to be this, for a while, when I was younger. You wear so many masks, allow me a few. Besides, I’m not like the one you just met. All rage and violence, obsessed with defeating you. I’d just like to play a few games. Much easier, yes?”

I kind of preferred the other one.

Seriously, stop.

Doesn't that mean you want to defeat me too?

Akira _didn’t_ prefer the other one, and he doesn’t like being rude if he doesn’t have to be. He taps option three.

White light.

Goro gives a small laugh. “Oh, not at all!” he says. “With true rivals, the game matters more than the victory. I’m just here for the pleasure of your company.” He picks up the chalk holder and chalks the end of his cue.

Which _does_ sound easier. And if he’s dealing with multiple facets of Goro, it’s entirely possible one of them is just nicer. But he’s not going to let his guard down.

Akira picks up the other cue. “Fair enough,” he says. “Let’s get started.”

Goro tosses him the chalk holder; he makes use of it and sets it aside while Goro takes a coin out of his pocket. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads.”

Goro flips the coin. It lands on heads.

“Well, starting first isn’t _all_ bad,” Goro says with a smile. It reaches his eyes more than the TV ones ever did, but it’s still a little unsettling. Goro _did_ enjoy spending time with him, right, even if it was partly to spy on him? So his reactions back then must have been at least partly genuine, and if he looks that way now, he probably isn’t faking. 

Masks and metaphors. Akira doesn’t actually know if the Detective Prince was completely a lie. Maybe Goro doesn’t know either.

Akira lines up his cue against the cue ball. He likes to think he’s pretty good at billiards. He _knows_ he’s pretty good at billiards. Even if he really only learned so he could show off, he can probably hold his own against Goro.

With a tap, he knocks free most of the balls. A few of them get decently close to the pockets, but not enough to sink any. He straightens up and looks at Goro.

“You know, this isn’t actually billiards,” Goro says. “Traditional billiards uses three balls at a time, not sixteen. Technically, we’re playing pool.”

I didn't know that.

Word definitions change over time.

I get it, you're smarter than me.

Akira _didn’t_ know that, but…option two seems more interesting, so he taps it.

White light.

Goro’s smile widens a bit. “Arguing for linguistic drift, hmm?” he says. “That’s certainly a factor. But it could also be argued that consistent terminology is important to make it clear what specific thing you’re referring to. The games are a bit different; someone who’s better at billiards than pool might come here and be disappointed that they won’t get to flex their skills.”

Goro leans down and neatly hits the cue ball into the striped blue ball, knocking it into a pocket.

“If the only equipment difference between billiards and pool is the number of balls, then technically someone _could_ play billiards here,” Akira points out while he examines the table. He’s got a few decent options. “Maybe ‘billiards’ is an umbrella term.” Finally, he settles on a shot that pockets the solid orange ball and solid green, but just barely leaves the solid pink at an edge. Hrm.

“Ah, but there _is_ an umbrella term that covers not just those two but all similar games,” Goro says. “Cue sports. If an umbrella term is what the owner was looking for, could he not have used that one instead?”

With one strike, Goro pockets both the striped yellow and the striped green.

Akira shrugs. “He probably just thought ‘billiards’ sounds cooler.”

Goro chuckles. “You may be right about that. As always, you provide a refreshing perspective on matters.”

Why do you always say things like that?

Of course I do, I'm a genius.

Someday you'll figure out that most of what I say is bullshit.

Even if Akira was in the mood for smugness or flippancy, option one is still something he’s been meaning to ask.

White light.

Goro blinks. “Like what?” he asks.

“I mean, you don’t do it _anymore,_ but you used to say I was smart or interesting or unique or whatever if I said like one sentence to you,” Akira says. He lines up his cue, considers some angles.

“Oh, that,” Goro says. “Well, you _are_ all of those things. And sometimes being able to make a point in a succinct matter is more valuable than going on about it at length. But I’ll admit that I did partly do it because flattery is an easy way to get into someone’s good graces, and I wanted you to see me as trustworthy.”

The solid yellow ball rolls into a pocket. “So that you could spy on me,” Akira says.

Goro frowns. “Well…yes, but that’s not all of it,” he says. “At the TV studio, I mentioned Hegel’s concept of thesis and antithesis. Seeing you in the Metaverse, so similar to me and yet so different, made me wonder if we were destined to connect in some way. The idea that there might be an opposing figure in my life who I could respect, not despise, was…perhaps somewhat intoxicating.” He taps his fingers against the cue. “I suppose I wanted you to value my presence as much as I valued yours.”

 _Kinda overshot it on that front,_ Akira doesn’t say.

Goro sinks the striped red.

Looking at the table, Goro’s in the lead. He’s sunk four of the seven striped balls; Akira’s only managed three of the solid ones. But Akira _did_ read those books, and, well. There’s no one he wants to show off to more than Goro.

He carefully examines the angles. Moves around the table to get the most thorough view he can. Goro watches him with interest.

Finally, Akira lines up a shot--and sinks all four remaining solid balls at once.

Goro claps with a wide smile. “Amazing!” he says. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less. It seems the game is almost over, but…allow me to at least attempt to prolong it.”

And he does a decent job; he sinks two more. But Akira gets the eight-ball, and the game concludes.

“Invigorating as always,” Goro says. He rests his cue against the table. “What next? Darts?”

“Uh, sure,” Akira says, putting his cue down. This is _too_ easy. The only thing that could get hurt in this scenario is Akira’s pride, and this Goro doesn’t seem inclined towards that at all. Are they really just going to play games and talk? 

They both walk over to the dartboards. “Competitive, of course, not the usual team bonding activity,” Goro says. “Let’s each play 301, and whoever reaches it without going bust wins.”

“All right.” Akira’s never actually played competitive darts before, just the team stuff, but he’s decent enough at the mechanics.

Goro picks up a dart, aims it, waits a second, throws. Bullseye. Like literally every other throw Akira has ever seen him make. Okay, maybe darts was kind of an unfair choice.

Akira does his best, though. There--a bullseye of his own.

Goro smiles. “Perfect,” he says. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

It’s weird seeing Goro so _happy_ like this. Before discovering Goro’s plans, Akira saw it plenty of times--most of the times they met, really. Cheerful and friendly and complimentary. Then in November it all seemed to ring hollow, Akira unsure if any of it had ever been real, if Goro had hated him from the start. And with January came an entirely different version, one that _seemed_ more genuine. _That_ Goro did seem to sort of care about him in his own way, but he wasn’t what Akira would describe as happy.

This Goro is part of that Goro. If the anger and bitterness was all there was, Goro’s Palace wouldn’t have something like this in it. Goro _can_ be happy, can smile because he’s enjoying a simple game, can just exist like any other person--and maybe the real Goro is unlikely to act _exactly_ like this one, but the basic principle holds. Genuine, ordinary happiness is not out of Goro’s reach.

Akira can’t think of anything he wants more than to give him that.

They each score another bullseye, and another. Akira’s playing better here than he usually did at the real Penguin Sniper; but then, the stakes here are a lot higher.

Finally, both are at 250. 51 points remaining for each of them. “What happens if we tie?” Akira asks.

Goro purses his lips. “I suppose we’d just have to play again,” he says.

Which Akira would normally be down with--but the rest of the labyrinth is waiting, and so is the real Goro.

“Of course, no matter the outcome, it would be nice to play again,” Goro says. “But I’d understand if you didn’t want to. Even I get tired of games eventually.”

I kind of do need to move on.

Or we could just talk.

Another game sounds good.

Tempting as the first one is, Akira’s started to figure out the vibe. He taps option two.

White light.

Goro blinks. “I… _did_ make it clear I’m no longer spying on you, yes?” he asks.

“Pretty clear, yeah,” Akira says, nodding.

“And this is hardly one of your team activities.”

“Yeah.”

Goro brightens. “Oh, did you mean some form of debate? I’m happy to do that.”

Akira shakes his head. “No, just hanging out,” he says. “We’re friends, Goro, I like spending time with you.”

Goro gives him almost a pitying look. “We’re _rivals,”_ he says.

“Rivals can also be friends,” Akira says. “We don’t have to be competing over anything to hang out. You did say you were in this for ‘the pleasure of my company’.”

“Well…” Goro’s face falters. “I’m just not sure what you would gain from that, precisely.”

Akira sort of wants to put his face in his hands and scream. Even the friendliest aspect of Goro still doesn’t get it, apparently.

“I asked you to the jazz club plenty of times in January and you seemed to enjoy it,” Akira points out.

“To be honest, I’m still not sure why you did that,” Goro says hesitantly. “You already heard one of the less charitable interpretations.”

“How many times am I going to have to tell you we’re friends before you believe it,” Akira says heavily.

Goro winces. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Oh, god, no, that’s actually worse. “No, I’m not _mad_ at you, it’s just--” Akira takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself. It’s probably not Goro’s fault he’s like this, Akira reminds himself. “We don’t need an excuse to enjoy each other’s company,” he says. “No ulterior motives, no trying to one-up each other, we can just hang out because we like being together.” Akira doesn’t let himself think about other ways of phrasing that; he doesn’t let himself think about the word combination of “being with Goro”.

Goro looks over at the dartboards. Quietly, he says, “That’s nice of you to say. But even this is a game, is it not? A game of picking the right words to win your desired outcome. Even in this place, where my soul is open for you to see, we can only connect through a framework of victory and defeat.”

You made this place, not me.

This isn't a game.

I don't care about victory, I care about you.

It’s not even a question. Option three.

White light.

Goro looks back at him. Just looks, for a while.

Then he picks up a dart, throws it. Bullseye.

“If you mean what you say, you’ve got places to be,” he says. “But please allow me a few more moments of your time, so we can finish what we started.”

Akira nods. “Of course,” he says.

Another bullseye for him. One point remaining for each.

Goro lands his final dart directly on the 1.

So does Akira.

“I kinda figured it’d be a tie,” Akira says. “There’re probably better ways of playing competitive darts.”

“Perhaps, but this is the one I know you’re good at,” Goro replies.

Akira exhales. “Hey,” he says. “You’re part of him, right? The real one.”

“All three of us are aspects of him,” Goro says, nodding. “It’s important that you remember that.”

“Yeah, but…” Akira rubs the back of his neck. “What I meant was, you’re a lot happier than he usually is. That means he _can_ be, right? Happy?”

Goro smiles. It’s wide and bright and genuine. “If he’s with you, then I imagine so, yes,” he says.

“Okay. Good.” Akira allows himself to not ignore the little butterfly fluttering in his stomach.

A fanfare plays as a large rectangle pops up.

Rival route clear! Congratulations!

“Best get a move on,” Goro says. “Though I should warn you that the next one is…well, I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Before Akira can say anything in response, he blinks and he’s back at the dead end, standing in front of the first rectangles.

The top two are grayed out. The only one remaining is the third, silently floating, the single word on it seeming to loom over him even though it’s at chin level.

Victim

Akira swallows. Looks at the right-hand path, the very familiar room.

 _Enemy wasn’t that bad,_ he thinks, and taps the rectangle.

The second path goes as black as the first, and the shining barrier over the third disappears. Akira takes a step towards it before another rectangle pops up in front of him.

Tip: Process of elimination is not allowed. If you choose the right answer but you don't mean what you say, it won't count!

That’s…a little disappointing, and maybe alarming, but okay. Akira nods, and the rectangle vanishes, leaving the way forward completely open.

He ignores the queasy feeling in his stomach and walks inside.

Like the others, the wall closes behind him as soon as he enters. He doesn’t remember the exact details of the interrogation room all that well, but this looks about right: harsh overhead lighting, a chill in the air, cold metal furniture. A syringe on the ground that he doesn’t remember seeing but probably would’ve been there. 

No one’s here. Akira shifts on his feet, wondering if he should just…wait, or turn around so Goro can appear behind him, or something. Oh. Actually.

His movements are a little stiff as he sits down on the far chair.

God, he really doesn’t want to be here.

The wall has a door on it now. It opens.

Somehow, Akira feels his shoulders lose a tiny bit of tension when he sees Goro. Of course, it’s not…good, being in this room with Goro, but it’s a bad he hasn’t actually personally experienced, and for just a half-second he was expecting three men with a piece of paper and another syringe.

No, it’s just Goro. Smiling, not even carrying anything. He’s wearing his school uniform. He doesn’t look any different from the Goro who’s walked with him through the labyrinth--except for the yellow eyes, of course.

“You don’t know exactly how this went, do you,” Goro says pleasantly. “You know what I told Shido on the phone, and what the police told the news, but not the actual play-by-play details.”

“I thought about asking you,” Akira says. He keeps his voice calm, steady, even as his heart starts to beat slightly faster. “But I haven’t really had a good chance to bring it up.”

Goro walks up to the table. Puts his hands on it, leans in. “I’d _love_ to tell you,” he says with a smile. “You should’ve asked earlier, I would’ve described every moment. I could tell you now, if you like.”

Akira half-expects rectangles, but none appear. “Sure,” he says.

“I walked right in that door,” Goro says, gesturing behind him, “and I took the guard’s gun, and I shot him with it. He wasn’t expecting that at all. Of course, he was actually a Shadow, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t even think about him. Technically, _he_ was the first person I ever killed in reality. But he doesn’t count. In all the ways that matter, my first deliberate murder was you.

“I put the gun to your forehead, and said something I thought was very dramatic, and I shot you, and you died. You looked so surprised, too. You never stopped looking surprised, even after the blood pooled under your head and bits of your brain dripped down the back wall.”

Akira stays very still. Goro hasn’t stopped smiling.

“I put the gun in your hand, and I left. I assume Sae told you everything she saw, so I don’t need to cover that. But that’s all. That’s how you died, Akira. That’s how I killed you.”

Goro leans in closer.

“God, it felt _amazing,”_ he breathes. “I’m almost grateful you survived, because that means maybe I’ll get to do it again.”

 _Shadows are exaggerations,_ Akira thinks. _They’re how the person perceives themselves, but perception isn’t reality. Kamoshida wasn’t a king. Madarame wasn’t a shogun. This isn’t the actual Goro._

But the Goro from the previous route said they were all aspects of him.

Goro leans back, props one hip up against the table, folds his hands over his lap. “Good news, Akira,” he says. “I’m the only thing left between you and the other me. If you can finish this little scenario, you can get out of here and progress to your heart’s content.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” Akira says slowly. “Why bring it up?”

Goro smiles beatifically. “Well,” he says. “That’s a pretty big ‘if’.”

Akira realizes, with dawning unease, that he doesn’t actually know what a ‘bad end’ entails.

“…okay,” he says, and his voice is very steady.

Goro reaches across the table. Caresses his cheek with one gloved hand. Akira doesn’t shiver. “Very good,” he murmurs.

“Don’t worry, though,” he says, withdrawing and straightening up. “I’m unlikely to _actually_ kill you. This is all just metaphorical, isn’t it? Allegory, symbolism, things that _mean_ things but aren’t _actual_ things. It might hurt a bit, but that’s all. And it might not even hurt that much, depending on what you say.”

Akira doesn’t feel very comforted by that.

“Now, then,” Goro says, waving a hand over the table. “Pick your metaphor.”

Akira looks down. There are a few items on it that weren’t there before.

A hunting knife, the blade maybe eight inches long and partly serrated. A stainless steel knife and fork. A small, shiny scalpel.

The rectangles appear:

[Knife]

[Knife and fork]

[Scalpel]

In the cold air and simmering fear, Akira’s brain turns to logic.

If he’s reading the situation correctly, then… _technically,_ option two wouldn’t hurt as much; they don’t look that sharp. And option three wouldn’t go very deep. Option one seems terrible, actually.

But honestly he’s getting a really bad fucking feeling about two and three, so he taps _Knife._

A small burst of white light appears. Akira exhales.

Goro almost looks a little disappointed. But it doesn’t last. “Knife it is,” he says cheerily. The other items disappear along with the rectangles. “Just one more thing before we begin.”

He steps around the table, stands next to Akira. In one hand, he raises a pair of handcuffs.

[Accept]

[Resist]

Is this really necessary?

Despite every survival instinct screaming, Akira’s got a pretty good idea how this game is played. With a lump in his throat, he taps _Accept._

White light. There’s that, at least.

“Wonderful,” Goro murmurs. “You’re doing _so_ well.”

Akira places his hands behind his back. With a pair of _click_ s, he feels cold metal rest against the exposed skin between his gloves and his coat. He tests it with a tug; the handcuffs are very firmly on. Technically his feet are still free, but the room isn’t very large, and the door has disappeared; when it comes down to it, he’s helpless. Completely at the mercy of someone who very openly wants to kill him.

He’s just not sure his heart’s beating faster for the right reasons.

Goro tips his chin up. Removes the mask, lets it fall to the ground. “I like to think Sae-san remembered your appearance perfectly,” he says. “You had a beautiful set of bruises, after all. Were there any under your clothes?”

“Yeah,” Akira says quietly. “Couple of bootprints on my chest. My shoulder got kinda banged up too.”

Goro lays a hand over Akira’s ribs, presses down just slightly. “I wish I could’ve seen them,” he says.

Yeah, Akira knows how this game is played. “I wish you could’ve seen them too,” he whispers.

Goro raises his eyebrows. “Oh _really,”_ he says, his mouth curving in a smirk. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

Akira blinks up at him. Lowers his eyelashes a little. “I’m here, aren’t I,” he says. “It’s pretty obvious I’ve got terrible taste.”

Goro brushes a thumb over Akira’s lower lip. “Obvious you’re a relentless do-gooder with a martyr complex, yes,” he says. “Any…additional subtext wasn’t clear.”

Just because a Shadow knows something doesn’t mean the real person will. The real Goro isn’t here right now, and Akira will probably never see this Shadow again; whatever he says or does here will never leave this room.

Akira reaches inside himself and pulls for every fragment of Metaverse confidence that he can.

He grins like a knife. “This is what the Metaverse is for, isn’t it?” he says. “Showing sides of yourself you can’t in the real world? It’s a lot easier to say whatever you want here. Say things like, I don’t know, ‘I regularly fantasize about Goro Akechi having one hand on my cock and the other on my throat.’”

The words come out remarkably clear. The Metaverse _does_ make it easier. But it helps, too, to think of this…tactically. What actions will produce what results. The Shadow wants to make him uncomfortable; this is a game just like the first two were, and Akira’s going to win.

He’s going to bury the guilt and the fear of his own psyche deep down where he always does, and he’s going to _win._

“Well,” Goro says. “When you put it that way.”

He yanks Akira’s head back by the hair, sending a burst of pinpricks of pain through Akira’s scalp; Akira grits his teeth to swallow the unconscious yelp that almost breaks through. His shoulders bang against the metal back of the chair.

Goro’s other hand curves over his neck. One thumb digs into his jugular. “It’s much more intimate than a gun, I’ll give you that,” he says lightly. “Maybe I should’ve gone with that instead. That’d be something, feeling the life drain from you with my own hands.”

His fingers wrap tighter around Akira’s neck. “You only said one hand, though,” he says. “Not brave enough for two?”

Through the increasing pressure in his throat, Akira manages to say, “No, that doesn’t start until you’re already fucking me.”

He’s not sure he’d even be physically capable of saying these words in any other context. Just the thought of it makes him feel queasy.

Goro’s other hand releases his hair. The relief is only momentary, though; his grip tightens as he lifts Akira off the chair by his throat, kicking it away with one foot. It clatters against the floor as it falls over.

Akira can still breathe, barely, but any attempt at words comes out as a croak. His vision starts to blur.

Goro turns and shoves him onto the table, facing him, the backs of his legs hitting the sharp edges. He takes his hand off Akira’s throat. Caresses the side of his face, instead.

Akira gasps for breath, chest heaving. Tries to get his thoughts in order.

Looks up from under his eyelashes and says, between heavy breaths, “Not even gonna buy me dinner first?”

“You’ve taken me to the jazz club often enough that I think we’re far past third date territory,” Goro says. He takes a step closer, leans in. His knees brush against Akira’s.

God, it’s electric. It’s like combat, but much more personal; demons don’t really care who they’re fighting. This Goro is here for _him,_ and every word traded is like clashing swords, including the awareness that if he takes one misstep it could go very, very badly.

Goro _said_ he probably wouldn’t kill him. But the ‘probably’ sticks in Akira’s abused throat, and the rectangle’s warning about bad ends seems more ominous by the second.

But it’s hard to care about that when Akira feels like he’s got liquid metal coursing through his veins.

“What, you’re gonna fuck me right here?” he says, not bothering to try to keep the rasp from his voice. “Gotta say, I love the mood lighting.”

Goro cocks his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he says. “I did say this was about metaphors.” And suddenly the hunting knife is in his hand.

He rests the tip of it just underneath Akira’s chin. Says, conversationally, “I only know what Sae-san _thinks_ your blood would look like. I’m curious to see the real deal.”

He moves one of Akira’s thighs with his free hand, slips closer so he’s between Akira’s legs. Presses the knife forward, just a little more.

Akira hisses involuntarily at the dot of pain. A drop of blood wells up under the knife.

“Hm,” Goro says. “Just like everyone else’s.” He seems strangely disappointed.

“I don’t know, I could probably use more iron in my diet,” Akira says, even though the movement in his throat makes the knife dig a tiny bit deeper into his neck. “Like ninety percent of what I ate in Tokyo was either curry or bread from the school store, I’m surprised I’m not anemic.”

“I suppose it has the appeal of being _your_ blood.” Goro draws the knife down, just a little, leaving behind a red line maybe an inch long. Akira inhales sharply, torn between wincing at the pain and being desperately turned on.

Goro brushes a thumb over the cut. Brings it to his mouth, licks. Gives a content little sigh.

Man, Goro’s pretty deep between Akira’s legs, isn’t he.

He _said_ he wasn’t going to--but--

He’s also looking at Akira like he wants to devour him, and the weird fear hormones Akira doesn’t usually like to think about are on _fire._

Fuck, how much longer is this even going to--

As if on cue, rectangles.

Are you done yet?

Taking 'bloodlust' a little far, aren't you?

The real Goro could learn a thing or two from you.

The handcuffs make it impossible for him to reach over and tap any of them, but the awareness flits into his mind that he doesn’t actually have to do that, he can just think it. And maybe that’s why it happens--his thoughts move a little too quickly, compromised brain chemicals flare up, and before he knows it he’s picked option three.

There’s no white light.

 _Fuck,_ Akira thinks, as Goro’s face contorts. “There is no _real,”_ Goro says. “All of this is him. How can you have not gotten the point yet? Maybe I haven’t been clear enough.”

The knife pulls back from Akira’s throat, and Goro looks directly into his eyes as he thrusts it deep into Akira’s shoulder.

Akira _screams._ Injuries from Shadows have always been more about the feeling of pain rather than actual physical damage--but this hurts _so_ much more, and he can feel every inch tearing through his flesh. The knife’s long enough that it plunges all the way through his shoulder, buried to the hilt.

Akira gasps, again, and again, as the white-hot agony ripples out. Goro’s eyes bore into him almost as much as the knife did. “Do you _understand_ now,” Goro says in a low voice. “Or do you need more evidence?”

Akira struggles to keep his head together. This is a _game,_ he can _win._ He made a mistake but it’s not over yet. Turn off the part of your mind that wants to panic, it won’t help you. Go back. Find your cool. Be _Joker._

He pulls together a weak grin and says, “If you wanted to penetrate me that badly, you could’ve asked.”

Goro gives a ragged little laugh. “God, you really _don’t_ get it,” he says. “Are you even capable of turning off the bravado? Although I can’t say I completely mind it. That just makes you more fun to _break.”_

He twists the knife, ripping through even more of Akira’s shoulder and scraping against bone. Akira manages not to scream again, but he can’t help a strangled cry. Blood pours from the wound in his shoulder as Goro reduces it to a pulpy mess.

And yet, and yet, even through it all, there’s a small hint--a distant fascination with what it feels like to have his flesh torn to shreds. It’s not even a lethal wound, really. He could survive something like this. 

“Oh, I’d love to see you try,” Akira whispers, even as his chest heaves with harsh breaths.

Goro pulls out the knife. Blood flows more freely from the mess of his shoulder. Akira tries to remember if he knows how long it takes to bleed out.

Goro rests the tip of the knife at Akira’s chin, just beneath the other cut, tilting it up to expose more of his throat. His other hand clenches in Akira’s hair. “Back then, the plan was just to immediately kill you,” he murmurs. “Taking too long would have been risky. But I thought _extensively_ about taking my time with you. With a knife like this, I could’ve carved you open slowly, inch by inch, exposed your trembling heart to open air and watched it flutter until it finally went still. I could’ve removed your organs one by one while you lay there helpless. I even had a pedestrian little fantasy about holding a gun to your head while I fucked your mouth, but that one’s so dull it’s barely worth mentioning.”

The miniscule possibility of innuendo vanishes.

Not that it wasn’t obvious by this point--but _maybe,_ maybe, it was a facet of the metaphor; maybe it was just further shorthand for violence. But now it undeniably isn’t. Goro possibly wants to kill him and definitely wants to have sex with him; the two desires might be too tangled up in each other to completely separate. 

It’s just that Akira’s not sure he _wants_ to completely separate them.

“Kinda pedestrian, maybe,” Akira says. “But I don’t know if I’d call it _dull,_ since I spent most of December thinking about it too.”

He didn’t _like_ that he thought about it--in the late days of November he crept down to the Leblanc bathroom at night and tried to see if putting his fingers in his mouth while he jacked off would feel similar enough to count, and always felt bad afterwards, like he should have just tried to forget it and not do anything. Then came the events of the engine room, and he felt even _worse,_ because after that sometimes he’d wake up with murky memories of dreams where Goro fucked him against that wall, and how incredibly awful was that?

Sometimes the cognitive Goro was involved too.

Goro’s yellow eyes sharpen. “So if I put you on your knees right now, you’d already have your mouth ready for me?” he says in a low voice.

Try it and find out.

I thought this was about metaphors.

If you don't mind teeth.

Option two.

White light.

Goro rolls his eyes. _“Everything’s_ a metaphor here,” he says. “I’m sure I could think of one that would justify facefucking you until you choke.”

“Let me know if you do,” Akira says. What’s left of his shoulder is throbbing like a heartbeat.

“Until then, though,” Goro says. He lowers the knife to the top of Akira’s shirt, cuts through it like it’s nothing, down to Akira’s waist, leaving a long swathe of bare skin. Returns the knife to Akira’s throat, presses it down. A thin trickle of blood follows. Akira’s mouth goes dry. “I mentioned carving, yes? I didn’t have a knife then, but I certainly do now.”

He starts to slowly drag the knife down Akira’s throat. Not deep enough to do serious damage, but enough to make a thin line of pain flare out. Akira grits his teeth, tries to bite back as much noise as he can.

Goro’s hand stills. His other hand lets go of Akira’s hair and travels down to Akira’s lips, presses one gloved thumb against his teeth. “None of that, now,” he whispers. “I want to hear your voice.”

Akira opens his mouth just slightly. Goro cradles Akira’s chin with his free hand and resumes slicing down his throat.

Unable to hold it back, Akira gives a thin whine of pain, breathy and high. It’s not as bad as the shoulder, but--it’s still a long, searing line of agony, his blood trailing down his skin while the knife splits him open. 

“That’s better,” Goro murmurs. “Not quite the same caliber as you screaming my name, but it serves its purpose.”

The knife parts Akira’s flesh like a caress, leaving a trail of exposed muscle. Akira squeezes his eyes shut, keens, tries not to squirm even as his heart beats louder and louder.

From fear, yes, but also--

But what is he supposed to _do_ here? The logical end for this scenario would not go well for him, but how can he stop that? _Can_ he stop that? Is he just supposed to--sit there and take it, or--is he _supposed_ to goad Goro into fucking him, is _that_ it? That can’t be it.

But through the searing pain, Akira’s heart beats even faster at the thought.

The knife stills again just past his sternum. “Run out of things to say for yourself?” Goro says. “Or just disappointed your mouth didn’t get the use you mentioned?”

Akira cracks his eyes open just in time to see rectangles pop into view.

Why are you trying to make me afraid of you?

Just needed to brainstorm a bit.

Is that still on the table?

It’s a lot harder to concentrate on them now, but--option one.

White light.

Goro’s mouth twists. “Because you _should be,”_ he says, like it’s obvious. “You’ve seen what I’ve done, you know what I’m capable of, and I certainly hope you can tell I’m enjoying this; if you’re _not_ afraid of any of that, your mind’s even more fucked than mine is.”

Somehow, Akira manages to shrug with his unmangled shoulder. “Guess it is, then,” he says hoarsely. “Because when it comes down to it, I’m not afraid of you at all.”

And he realizes that he isn’t, not the way Goro wants him to be.

Goro sighs. “I know you’re stubborn, but _really,”_ he says. “It’s a good thing providing evidence is my new favorite thing to do to you.”

He shoves Akira down onto the table. It’s not a smooth position; the handcuffs get in the way of his back being fully down, so the only part of his torso that actually presses against the table is his shoulders, which jars another cry from his throat at the explosion of pain. Goro’s hips slot against the backs of his thighs. His back is painfully arched, and Goro’s other hand grips the inside of his knee.

Goro leans in, and for a few moments, their faces are so close. “Look at you,” Goro breathes. “Bleeding and helpless and right where I want you. It’s like you were made just for me. You’re so beautiful like this, I don’t think I can hold back any longer.

“I only said I was _unlikely_ to kill you. I can’t help it if you tipped the scales.”

 _That last option was the right one,_ Akira thinks frantically, his heart slamming against his bloody chest. _It was the right one, it was supposed to be the right one--_

Goro withdraws just enough to return the knife to the cut on Akira’s torso and _plunge._

Akira screams harder than he ever has before and doesn’t stop.

It’s _excruciating_ it’s _unbearable_ the knife slowly rips through his guts and _drags_ it’s worse than any Metaverse injury it’s worse than anything Akira’s ever felt there’s so much blood he’s being torn open like an animal at a slaughterhouse he can’t _think_ he can’t _think_ his organs are rent in two his insides are slipping out of him everything is an endless flood of agony is this how he dies is this how he dies is this how he dies

One tiny thought slams at the surface of his mind until it breaks through.

_If there really is no healing here, why did Goro’s wounds from the puppet show disappear?_

Goro cups Akira’s face with a blood-drenched hand and whispers, somehow audible past the screaming, “Anything to say before I cut out your heart and eat it?”

And somehow, somehow Akira can just barely process the appearance of rectangles.

This isn't what you really want.

If I die here, you'll never escape.

I trust you.

A memory crawls up from the writhing mess of his mind.

_Process of elimination is not allowed. If you choose the right answer but you don’t mean what you say, it won’t count!_

Akira swallows his scream. Looks Goro directly in the eye.

Option three.

White light.

Goro blinks. Opens his mouth, just slightly. Slowly, a hysterical laugh starts to fall from his mouth.

“Are you _insane?”_ he barely manages to say through the unhinged laughter. “Or is this just your martyr complex taking an especially bizarre turn?”

The agony is still screaming in his veins, but Akira reaches inside himself and clutches a mask much more powerful than the imitation lying on the floor. Akira _is_ Joker, and the unflappable cool is just as much a part of him as the overpowering instinct to help that brought him here. “You were upset about me seeing your past,” he says. “If all you wanted was to kill me, you could’ve done it before any of that. Or you could’ve pulled the trigger in the photoshoot, or let Loki attack me. You _want_ me to survive this place.”

 _“That_ me is too much of a coward to admit what he wants,” Goro hisses. “He needs me to do it for him, so he had to let you get this far.”

Akira is undeterred. “Almost all the dead ends in this labyrinth can only be opened by two people,” he says. “And everything here is a reflection of you. Maybe you can’t _admit_ that you want my help, but this place definitely does.”

Goro’s fingers clench on the hilt of the knife. “Stop _talking,”_ he hisses. “You’ll be dead in a few minutes anyway, it doesn’t _matter.”_

Akira’s head feels clearer with every word. “Your wounds from the puppet show disappeared,” he says. “You have more control over this place now. If you don’t want me to die, I _won’t.”_

Goro’s yellow eyes are wild, but--desperate, too. “I _do,”_ he says viciously. “How do you not _get that?”_

The pain is still there, but it’s like it’s a separate part of him, carefully fenced off. “You know that _bravado_ you hate so much?” Akira says. “I could only talk like that because I knew you weren’t going to hurt me in a way that matters. I _trust you,_ Goro. Even if you think you don’t deserve it.”

It’s slight, but Goro’s shaking. “Even after this?” he says hoarsely.

Akira keeps his gaze sharp and his voice firm. _“Especially_ after this,” he says. “If you can go this far and still stop, I’ll know beyond a doubt that I can trust you with my life.”

Goro stands there for a long moment. His throat works.

Eventually, he says, quietly, “You _are_ insane. But I think the whole of me wouldn’t want you so much if you weren’t.”

Akira flashes a grin. “Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

Goro laughs, just a little. He stands back. Removes the knife, which dissolves in his hand.

The pain ceases completely. Akira glances down to see his body and clothes back to normal, like nothing had happened to them, though the mask is still off. Behind him, he feels the weight of the handcuffs disappear.

He levers himself up, slides off the table and onto his feet. Brushes nonexistent dust from his gloves.

A large rectangle appears with a triumphant fanfare.

Victim route clear! Congratulations!

True route unlocked!

“You better get going,” Goro says. “The other me needs to talk to you.”

“We’ve needed to talk to each other for a while now,” Akira says wryly. “It’s pretty overdue.”

Goro smiles, small but genuine. “I’ll see you around, Akira,” he says.

“I hope so,” Akira replies, just as genuine.

And with a blink, it's back to the black walls and foggy plain of the dead end.

The… _very_ foggy plain.

The transparent white fog is up to his knees now, swirling in some wind of its own. Even the upper fog has lowered to just above Akira’s head. And standing not far away is Goro, facing him. No yellow eyes. Just the real entirety of Goro.

Standing, and looking like he hasn’t slept in a week.

Akira walks forward and waves a little. “Hey,” he says.

Goro’s fingers are digging into his arms so hard it must hurt. “How are you _like this,”_ he says, his voice shaking.

Akira thought at first Goro wouldn’t see any of that, so, the things he said--but of course there’d be no point to it if Goro didn’t know. But that doesn’t matter now, anyway. It feels like a spell’s broken; now that he’s out of that room, everything in his head is crashing down. The electric current that kept him going has fizzled out. 

He almost _died,_ he realizes.

“Dunno,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, because if he hadn’t talked his way out of it he’d be _dead_ and it feels like his words are exhausted.

“I almost _killed you,”_ Goro says. His face is very pale.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Coming up with a full sentence feels like pushing a boulder up a hill.

“That’s not funny,” Goro says fiercely. “I _saw_ you, I--I can still hear you screaming. _I_ did that to you.”

 _I know, I was there,_ Akira doesn’t say. The reminder of it is creeping up his nerves. All the fear he suppressed, all the crushing pressure to make the right choices, stirs in his bones.

“And you still--” Goro stops, takes a deep breath. “How can you even stand to be _near me?”_ he asks.

Akira looks at him. He tries, very hard, to stay standing. “Thought that was obvious,” he says.

Goro breaks into another hysterical laugh. “I can just about imagine you being enough of an idiot to find me attractive,” he says. “It is _unfathomable_ to me why you would want anything beyond that.”

Akira really doesn’t have it in him for a speech. _You almost died,_ his mind whispers to him. _You almost died._ His body feels much colder than it used to.

The fog slowly swirls higher.

“I just do,” Akira says simply. He can list off the detailed reasons later, if he needs to.

Goro’s throat works. “I used to fantasize about breaking your fingers,” he says. “I once had a dream about pinning you down and dissecting you so I could find out what made you the way you are and when I woke up I was hard. It is _demonstrably_ a bad idea to have me in your life at all, much less--whatever _you’re_ thinking.”

 _If you’d picked one more wrong option, you would have died._ The stress he ignored piles up heavy in his stomach. “I’m okay with that,” he says.

“You _shouldn’t be,”_ Goro says, almost loud enough to be a yell. “Knowing what I am and still wanting me is an act of insanity.”

Repressed terror pulses in Akira’s veins. “You want me too, though,” he says.

“I would rather _die_ than watch you be torn apart by my monstrous desires,” Goro snaps.

It’s kind of fucked up that all of this reminds Akira of nothing so much as a wounded animal, lashing out with whatever it can at whatever comes near.

The fog swirls around their waists.

God, Akira feels so tired.

But just because the game is over doesn’t mean he’s done.

He musters every ounce of strength he has left and says, “I wasn’t lying when I said I think about that stuff. I’m weird too, it’s okay.”

“There is a difference between enjoying pain and enjoying _torture,_ and you didn’t seem to be having fun during the last part,” Goro snaps.

Akira breathes in, out, tries to stay conscious. “Maybe that one was a lot,” he says. “But that’s not really an option in the real world anyway. The stuff I talked about is fine. We could just start with that.” _You almost died, you almost died._ He doesn’t think he can keep this up for much longer.

Goro stares at him. “You say that like it’s nothing,” he says, a little helplessly. “You look like you’re about to fall over, you’re not thinking straight.”

“I’m thinking fine,” Akira says as steadily as he can. “I’m just tired.”

Goro swallows. “Tell me honestly that you’re okay,” he says.

Three rectangles flicker into being, right at their side.

I'm okay.

I'm not okay.

I could use a hug.

Akira looks at the options. Looks at Goro.

He gives a weary smile and says, “I mean, a hug would be really nice right now, actually.”

With a small burst of white light, the rectangles disappear.

Goro gives a small, disbelieving laugh. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you,” he says quietly.

He uncrosses his arms, steps closer. Gingerly slips his arms around Akira’s torso and leans in, tucking his head over Akira’s shoulder.

For a moment, Akira just closes his eyes and breathes. Even through the coat, it’s warm, comforting. He doesn’t see it, but the fog is slowly receding.

He wraps his arms around Goro’s back. Presses closer, maximizes the physical contact. Rests his head next to Goro’s neck and just breathes, in, out.

It’s not quite security that he feels. But it’s still a comfort that sinks into his bones, draws out the stress and tension like poison from a wound. Leaches away the last traces of fear. He’s left with just warmth and Goro’s arms around him.

He thinks he might be shaking, a little.

One of Goro’s hands strokes his hair.

Suddenly, a fanfare plays. Akira opens his eyes to see the larger rectangle appear behind Goro, announcing cheerfully:

True route clear! Congratulations!

A metallic screech sounds out, and they pull their heads back and look to the side to see the dead end receding into the walls, leaving open a long, empty path that eventually cuts to the right. All of the fog has dissipated entirely, leaving a white sky visible above the tall black walls.

They turn to look at each other. Their faces are very close.

Everything slips into blackness.

Akira wakes up in his bed. The first thing he notices is that it’s still dark--enough to sort of see by, but at least a few hours before sunrise. The second thing he notices is that he’s not alone.

Goro’s there. Their relative positions haven’t changed, but they’re in bed under the blanket now, Akira on his back and Goro on top of him, looking down and blinking in surprise, arms still around him.

The long moment is silent, dark, and warm.

“Tell me if this isn’t okay,” Goro whispers.

“I promise,” Akira whispers back.

Goro closes the small remaining distance between them and kisses him.

It’s so soft. So different from how Akira always pictured it; slower, sweeter, no overwhelming passion, no enjoyable aggression. The hand on his back slides out from underneath him and cradles his face, caresses his cheek with one thumb.

With his eyes closed, the darkness is total; he can almost imagine they’re somewhere else, far away from any parents who might overhear, far from--

And with a jolt he remembers something extremely important, and breaks away and turns his head to the side, hisses, “Wait, _where’s Morgana.”_

Goro pauses. “…I have no idea,” he whispers. “I don’t think he’s on the bed?”

Akira carefully peers down both sides of the mattress. Just them.

He and Goro both look across the room. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but there’s no cat-sized black shapes on the floor, at least, and the desk chair looks empty. 

Goro points towards the door. “I think the door’s open a little,” he whispers.

Akira squints--yeah, just barely. “He must’ve left for something,” he whispers. What, he doesn’t know. Exploring the house? Morgana can open doors if he tries hard enough.

“I’m just gonna…” Akira shimmies out from underneath Goro and gets out of bed, crosses the room, closes the door. Locks it.

“At least we’ll be able to hear him if he tries to pick it,” Akira whispers as he slides back onto the mattress. He notices that Goro's tie, jacket, and gloves are on the floor now.

“I’d rather not think about Morgana right now,” Goro murmurs, and kisses him again.

Akira decides that’s a good idea.

It’s like they never stopped in the first place. Akira parts his lips, and Goro’s tongue slips inside slowly, laps at the tip of Akira’s tongue before sliding in farther to explore his mouth at a leisurely pace. Akira runs his hands down Goro’s back, feels the planes of lean muscle there hidden by the cloth.

One of Goro’s hands starts to slide up Akira’s shirt. Akira is abruptly grateful he’s never been ticklish. The hand pauses on his stomach, rests there, just lightly, and Akira thinks, oh.

Of course there wouldn’t be any scar. It doesn’t even hurt. But he gets why Goro would be hesitant to touch it. He’s not sure how to indicate that it’s okay without stopping the kiss, though. He settles for sliding one of his own hands up Goro’s shirt, resting at the small of his back. Goro seems to get the point; his fingers spread across Akira’s stomach in a careful caress that makes Akira shiver.

It’s unfair, Akira thinks, that Goro’s shirt has so many buttons. He starts to undo a few of the ones at the bottom, but it’s difficult in the dark.

Goro pulls back long enough to help him out, undoing all of the buttons in quick order before pulling off the shirt in one smooth motion and discarding it over the side. Akira slips off his own shirt, much faster. And then there’s no barrier between their chests; skin presses against skin. Goro’s body heat isn’t any colder for being technically dead. Akira runs a hand across the plane of Goro’s back again, lean and warm and very, very real.

Goro brushes his lips against Akira’s jawline. Then down a little, farther, and again; not enough to leave any marks, just a trail of soft kisses down to his collarbone. Akira stifles a breath that threatens to turn into a moan.

Akira shifts his legs, just a little, parts them. The rest of Goro’s body neatly slips between. Slowly, Goro rolls his hips against Akira’s, returning their mouths together.

Heat starts to pool in Akira’s stomach. Goro’s movements are unhurried, careful, and maybe in Akira’s fantasies it wasn’t quite like that, but right now it just feels so, so good. He’s too tired for anything strenuous, not physically, just mentally. Slow and careful is a balm to his mind after what happened earlier.

As the heat and pressure of Goro rocking into him builds, Akira finally slips his hands between them to slide down the rest of his sleepwear. Goro obligingly shifts upwards, giving enough space for him to do the same, taking a little longer because he’s wearing actual pants. All remaining clothing is tossed aside.

Goro’s face over his is framed by the curtain of his hair, his eyes almost black in the darkness. His lips are slightly parted. He looks a little bit like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

Slowly, Goro lowers back down. One of his hands braces against Akira’s shoulder, and the other grasps their cocks together, starts to move.

Akira’s breath comes out in little pants. He’s still quiet, but it’s hard to keep silent when his cock is pressed against Goro’s, gripped by Goro’s fingers sliding up and down. Heat rises more and more as it becomes harder to think about anything other than what’s happening, nothing in the past, nothing that matters now.

One of Akira’s hands reaches up to the hand on his shoulder, laces their fingers together. Goro lets their entwined hands fall onto the mattress, holding onto each other like they can’t imagine letting go.

Goro’s breath comes faster now. Soft moans keep escaping Akira’s lips, restraint slipping away in the waves of pleasure. He’s close, he can tell, even though not much time has passed and he wishes it would last far longer.

In his ear, Goro murmurs, hoarsely, “You’re so good. Just a little further, come on.”

The pressure in his groin reaches a crest and he barely manages to keep his voice soft when he cries out, _“Goro,”_ and comes with a shudder into Goro’s hand.

It feels like Goro’s whole body trembles when he comes too, quieter. The air is still but for their ragged breathing. For a long moment, neither of them moves.

Goro raises his head. Akira can see his face again, and even in the dark it looks…vulnerable, more open than he’s ever seen Goro before. The expression doesn’t fade, either, so much as settle. He sits back on his thighs and says, quietly, “Do you have any tissues?”

“Uh--yeah, here,” Akira says, reluctantly letting go of Goro’s other hand so he can reach towards the nightstand. He grabs a few from a box and passes them to Goro, who takes them and starts to clean off the mess.

Akira isn’t sure what to say, if there even is anything appropriate to say. ‘Thanks’? ‘I feel a lot better now’? All he can think of is, “There’s a trash can over there,” which Goro glances at before reaching over and dropping the tissues into it.

Goro settles back down, lies on his side. Akira shifts to face him. The room is very quiet.

“I assume if I said I didn’t deserve you, you’d have some impassioned argument for why that isn’t true,” Goro says.

Akira gives a faint smile. “I’m too tired for that, but yeah, pretty much,” he replies.

Goro reaches out, gently takes hold of a lock of Akira’s hair. Strokes it between his thumb and finger. “What does this mean, exactly?” he murmurs. “You and I.”

“Do we have to decide that right now?” Akira says. He yawns, to punctuate his point.

“The longer we wait, the more likely it will be that Morgana walks in,” Goro says, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh. Yeah.” Akira thinks about it. “Well, I pretty much already said that I like you, and it’s pretty clear by now that you like me.”

“Yes,” Goro says quietly. Even through the exhaustion, Akira feels a tiny giddy spark that he’s not even trying to deny it.

“So…I think things are still complicated, but that means _something,_ right? Something good?”

“…I suppose.” Goro doesn’t quite sound like he believes it.

Akira grins sleepily and brushes a kiss to Goro’s lips. “Okay,” he says. “Get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, then,” Goro murmurs, and closes his eyes, lowers his hand from Akira’s hair. 

Akira justifies watching him for about thirty seconds before closing his eyes too.

This didn’t solve everything. Tomorrow they’ll have to talk, _really_ talk, and it might not be easy. And that won’t solve everything either; probably that will take a long time, if it ever really happens at all.

But right now things seem more okay than they were before, and that’s a good start.

For the rest of the night, his sleep is completely dreamless.


	8. Chapter 8

Akira wakes up significantly warmer than he was when he fell asleep.

The reason for this, he quickly determines, is Goro’s body firmly wrapped around his; arms pressing them together chest to chest, legs tangled, head tucked over his shoulder. It’s probably, Akira thinks, the single best thing that’s ever happened to him.

It’s also kind of sticky. The events of a few hours ago were…a little sweaty.

He kind of wants to just stay there for a while.

But he also has school soon, so he extricates himself as gently as he can, not quite gently enough to prevent Goro from stirring awake.

Goro blinks sleepily at him. It’s the single best thing he’s ever seen.

“Good morning,” Akira says softly.

“…good morning,” Goro says, a little slower. He looks at the general arrangement of their limbs, which aren’t quite separated enough to not make it obvious what happened.

“So, you’re a sleep cuddler,” Akira says, barely trying to hide his delight.

“…apparently,” Goro says, with the exact tone and expression of someone who doesn’t have enough time to think of a good lie.

Akira leans in, closes his eyes, brushes their lips together. Still soft. He opens his eyes again and pulls back. Smiles.

Goro isn’t smiling. Hm. “What’s up?” Akira asks.

Goro hesitates. “Well, you did just kiss me again, so I suppose that’s solid evidence against what I was thinking,” he says.

Oh. That’s still a thing. Okay.

“Haven’t changed my mind,” Akira says. “Not gonna ever.”

“You don’t know that,” Goro says quietly.

“I mean, last night kinda proved that it’d take a _lot,”_ Akira points out.

“Nevertheless,” Goro says quietly.

Akira nuzzles his forehead against Goro’s. “We’ll work on that,” he murmurs.

Right now there’s literally nothing Akira wants more than to pull Goro back on top of him and try for a less one-sided encore of a few hours ago, but he really does have to go to school.

His parents would probably notice if he didn’t come downstairs, anyway.

Although sick days are a thing--

 _No,_ Akira is a very responsible person who only skips school for normal reasons like being dead, not because his maybe-boyfriend is warm and naked and vaguely disheveled and devastatingly attractive and naked and in obvious need of reassurance that Akira really does like him immensely and naked and Akira’s train of thought is rapidly derailing when something small thumps at the door and says, shrilly, _“Akira if you don’t let me in I’m going to start scratching this stupid thing.”_

Oh.

With great reluctance, Akira finishes disentangling himself from Goro and gets out of bed. He pulls on his discarded pajama pants and walks to the door, unlocks it, opens it.

Morgana sits outside, tail twitching. _“Finally,”_ he says. “What were you up to in there? Last night I heard Lavenza calling for me and when I came back the door was locked. She said I should wait for a while but she didn’t say _why.”_

Akira’s not sure whether to thank Lavenza or be mildly horrified that she apparently knew what was about to happen.

“Well,” Akira starts.

Morgana looks through the open door. Sees Goro in the process of putting his own pants back on.

“…okay!” Morgana says brightly. “I’m not going to think about that, ever! I’ll be downstairs now!”

And he rushes downstairs on his little cat feet. Akira barely manages to refrain from bursting into laughter.

He walks back to his bed. “At least now I don’t have to shoo you out of the room so I can change,” he says.

“Yes, that is the sole benefit,” Goro says drily. 

They both get dressed, Akira into his school uniform and Goro into the only clothes he has. Akira glances down at the very rumpled bed. “So it looks like you can interact with objects now,” he says.

“It would seem so,” Goro agrees. “Whether that includes ordinary people will be harder to test, I think.”

Akira shakes his head. “Nah, just poke my mom’s hair when she isn’t looking,” he says. He may have put a lot of thought into this.

Goro smooths down his clothes as best he can. Akira realizes that he hasn’t taken those off in like, five days. Technically like two months? Wow.

And then he remembers something.

Holy _shit,_ why did he forget--the shock of seeing Goro again must’ve jarred it from his mind. He hurriedly pulls open one of the dresser drawers and takes it out.

Goro looks at the glove for a second before raising his eyebrows. “So you _did_ keep it,” he says.

“I swear I had it in my bag every day when I was still in Tokyo, the change in routine plus seeing you again must’ve made me forget,” Akira says. He almost grumbles about Morgana not reminding him, then remembers Morgana making very pointed comments about how keeping the glove with him all the time wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, and decides not to bring it up.

“Every day,” Goro repeats, looking amused.

Akira rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “I think by this point I don’t have to pretend I’m not really weird about you?”

“I’ve noticed, yes.”

“Anyway, you seem to have two now, so…can I keep it?”

He doesn’t really need it, now that Goro’s here for real. But it’s still an important memory.

Goro looks at his own hands. “This raises the question of if these even count as the clothes I had before I died,” he muses. “The original other glove in that pair may not technically exist anymore. Does the sentimental value take precedent over the physical reality? Or--”

“Oh my god, you’re such a dork,” Akira says blissfully, and puts the glove back in the drawer.

Akira’s alarm finally sounds; he turns it off, and now it’s time to really start the day. It feels like something should be different; it feels like the world should be completely new. But it isn’t, of course. Losing your virginity and maybe having a boyfriend doesn’t change the need to brush your teeth.

Especially because after brushing your teeth you can kiss your maybe-boyfriend again and discover that vaguely dead people don’t have morning breath.

Akira’s parents don’t seem to notice anything different either. Goro tests the hair theory; they discover that he can, in fact, touch other people now, and between that and the object interaction it’s going to be significantly harder to sneak him into school without anything getting in the way, but they manage somehow.

Lunch doesn’t feel like the right time for The Conversation. 

“So…” Morgana starts, after ravaging his curry bread. “I don’t want to know any details, but I’m assuming you made good progress on the labyrinth?”

Akira nods. He’s been holding Goro’s hand for like five minutes now and doesn’t see any particular reason to stop yet. “We’re probably almost done,” he says.

“If Lavenza’s progress reports are accurate, we should be roughly five-sixths complete,” Goro says. Akira swipes his thumb across Goro’s hand. Goro’s grip tightens.

“And you have a plan, right? For when he’s completely visible and your parents will be able to see him?”

“Nah, I figured I’d just tell them I have a roommate now,” Akira says, shaking his head.

Morgana narrows his eyes. _“Joker.”_

Akira rubs the back of his neck with his other, less preoccupied hand. “It helps that tomorrow’s a Sunday,” he says. “I can stay in my room until my parents leave, then take Goro to the train station and meet up with Sojiro in Tokyo. We can figure out the rest from there.”

“Your parents won’t notice if you run off to Tokyo for the day?” Goro asks, raising an eyebrow.

Akira shrugs. “I mean, probably not, but I’ll tell them a friend needs my help with something. It’s not like I’d be lying.” Well, maybe the friend part.

Lunch eventually devolves into climbing into Goro’s lap and staying there until the bell rings, much to Morgana’s vocal consternation, but whatever, Mona can go behind the solar panels if he needs to.

After school also doesn’t feel like the right time for The Conversation, partly because Akira’s decided that today kissing Goro takes priority over almost everything, but also partly because there are in fact other people in Akira’s life and sometimes they have things to say.

 **Futaba:** yo i looked into my mom’s old employers and found some dirt  
**Futaba:** turns out before she got drafted into shido’s gang she did some work for this corp called the kirijo group  
**Futaba:** and they’ve got their fingers in all KINDS of pies  
**Futaba:** some of these pies have reeeeeal interesting names  
**Futaba:** tell me you don’t think ‘shadow operatives’ is sus as hell  
**Futaba:** ?  
**Futaba:** akira  
**Futaba:** akira  
**Futaba:** akira do i have to turn on your camera  
**Futaba:** akira i’ll do it  
**Akira:** Yeah sounds cool Futaba keep looking  
**Futaba:** ungrateful child  
**Futaba:** see if i break into government databases for you again

 **Sumire:** Senpai, I was wondering if you’re doing better today?  
**Sumire:** Although I suppose it would make sense for you to be busy.  
**Sumire:** Let me know if there’s anything I can help with.  
**Akira:** Things actually worked out pretty well  
**Sumire:** Oh, that’s good to hear! Did you talk to Akechi-senpai?  
**Akira:** Kinda  
**Akira:** He says hi  
**Sumire:** Hello, Akechi-senpai! Did you actually talk, or is Senpai dodging the question?

**Akira has sent an image.**

**Akira:** Hello, Yoshizawa. I’m fully tangible now, so I don’t need Akira as an intermediary. Yes, we talked.  
**Sumire:** That’s fantastic! How are you feeling?  
**Akira:** Better. Thank you for always speaking in my favor in the group chat.  
**Sumire:** Oh, it’s no trouble at all! If it isn’t presumptuous to say, I really would like to be friends. The others are all very nice, but they can be a bit overwhelming. I think being me is easier when I don’t feel like I have to keep up with everyone. And you always seemed more willing to let me go at my own pace.  
**Akira:** I know the feeling.  
**Akira:** I would be amenable to that.

They _will_ have The Conversation eventually, probably soon, hopefully soon, definitely soon, it’s just that the easiest temporary fix for Goro’s brain drifting into unpleasant territory is kissing him until he stops thinking about it, and then Akira isn’t doing a lot of thinking either, and it all sort of cascades into pulling Goro onto the mattress or getting on his knees or finding out if ghosts can get hickeys (results inconclusive; more testing needed).

And eventually, it gets late.

“Uh, thanks for getting Mona out of the way,” Akira says, kind of awkwardly.

Lavenza smiles. Her face is very slightly pink. “When you were about to exit the labyrinth, I sensed it would be needed,” she says.

“Yeah, I’m glad I didn’t have to see any of that,” Morgana says grumpily.

“We’re almost done with the labyrinth, yes?” Goro asks. “Do you have any updates on what appeared in the center?”

Lavenza nods. “At your usual rate of progression, you will reach the center tonight,” she says. “The emotional presence has…settled, I think. It does not seem hostile. I still am not certain what it is, however, or if it wants something from you.”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Akira says. It’s worked so far.

He’s sort of got an idea of what the presence might be. But he’s not sure yet, so he doesn’t mention it.

This time, Goro doesn’t stand around in the room while Akira falls asleep; they’re both under the covers, tangled up in each other, faces barely apart.

“Here we go,” Akira whispers.

Goro nods, and they close their eyes together.

_Goro Akechi, former Detective Prince. Heart. Labyrinth._

Akira barely noticed it last time, but the fog is completely gone.

Where once it obscured the sky, now the tops of the black walls are clearly visible. The area beyond it is pure, featureless white. 

And Akira realizes--he’s not in the Joker outfit.

He’s just wearing his normal weekend clothes, minus the glasses. “I guess I didn’t really think about why I was wearing it here,” Akira says, examining his bare hands. “It’s not like I was a threat or anything.”

“There are different kinds of threats, I think,” Goro says. “Let’s get moving.”

And so they do.

It’s strange, walking through the labyrinth now. Akira used to always be on edge, waiting for the next awful set piece, but now it feels different here. Not completely calm; he still doesn’t know what’s around the next turn. But the atmosphere is…quiet. Not tense, not relaxing. Just quiet.

When they reach it, the next set piece turns out to be another TV set.

But not the cheery, colorful talk show--the somewhat more subdued tones of the news station Goro was sometimes interviewed on. No audience. The news anchor sits at the desk, quietly reviewing some documents.

There are two chairs on the other side of the desk, so Akira and Goro sit down together.

The anchor looks up and nods.

From behind the camera, the cameraman calls out the ready signal.

“Goro Akechi,” the anchor says. “It’s been an eventful year for you.”

“For everyone, I think,” Goro says drily. Akira smiles a little.

“We’ve all heard of your exploits against the Phantom Thieves,” the anchor says. “The rise and fall and rise of the Detective Prince. Late last year, however, you seemed to fall off the radar. Could you tell us what led to your sudden disappearance during what seemed like the height of your popularity?”

“Ah.” Goro’s mouth sets. “Well. I died.”

Under the desk, Akira’s hand slips into Goro’s.

The anchor nods. “I see,” he says. “What can you tell us about that time?”

Goro hesitates. “It was…unpleasant. But at the same time, it felt like the natural culmination of where my life had led me. I never thought I would live very long, and once I joined with Shido it seemed clear to me that the end would come sooner rather than later, whether by his hand or my own.”

Akira’s hand squeezes Goro’s tighter.

“I don’t think I wanted to die,” Goro continues. “Especially with my revenge not completed, and especially not at the hands of something so repugnant. But I did want to just…stop. I was very tired, of my life and myself and a world I perceived as having no space for me. I thought it would be nice to not have to deal with any of that.”

He gives a humorless smile. “Of course, in my last moments I realized that was bullshit, but it was too late by then. So honestly, it was incredibly fucking shitty all around.”

The anchor nods again. “How did it feel when you realized you’d been given a second chance?”

Goro huffs. “Deeply suspicious,” he says. “Which was confirmed, of course. I spent a few days at a detention center, but everyone else there hardly seemed to notice me. When Sae-san showed up to take me out, even she seemed confused as to why I’d been there in the first place. But even if it wasn’t for the parts that were obviously unnatural, I would have known something was wrong. The track record of my life had more than proven that anything good would be soured eventually. The idea of me _actually_ getting a second chance, of being able to live freely and happily, was utterly unbelievable.”

Akira doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say anything in this, and if he squeezes Goro’s hand any harder it’s going to get painful. But he tries to project a general aura of _that’s not true. You did deserve that chance. Your life isn’t dictated by what happened to you._

Goro’s thumb swipes across the back of Akira’s hand. Maybe the message got through.

“And how did you feel when you realized you were very likely to die again?” the anchor asks. He doesn’t seem to be delighting in exposing any of this; his tone and body language are completely neutral, even the questions aren’t obviously leaning one direction. He’s just calmly asking for Goro’s own thoughts.

Goro exhales. “Resigned, at first,” he says quietly. “I was already dead, so it didn’t matter. But…as time passed, the realization that I didn’t want to die cemented further in my mind. It didn’t matter whether I deserved it; seeing little glimpses of happiness made me selfish enough to want more of them. 

“But that didn’t matter, of course. Death was waiting whether I wanted it or not. So I told myself I had come to terms with it, and managed to hold onto that delusion until almost the very end.”

“Almost?” the anchor echoes.

Goro gives a little crooked smile. “Well, the last few seconds were…” He hesitates, but continues. “I was scared,” he admits. “I could feel something happening to me, and I didn’t want it to. And then everything faded away, and I didn’t feel anything anymore.”

Akira remembers Goro saying, _I thought it was appropriate that none of you were even looking,_ and he feels cold. He didn’t know. He should’ve looked for Goro as soon as they got out of the helicopter, he should’ve done _something,_ so Goro didn’t have to spend what he thought were his last moments scared and alone, _again._

But he’s here now. He’s doing something now. That’ll have to be enough.

“And then eventually I woke up in this place, so it worked out in the end,” Goro says wryly.

Still, Akira makes a mental note on the list of things Goro’s future therapist needs to know about.

The anchor looks down at one of the documents he was examining earlier. “We’ve received reports that the studio will be closing down soon,” he says. “So we won’t keep you any longer.”

“…I suppose this was the least unpleasant of the places here,” Goro says. “Certainly the briefest.”

The anchor nods one final time. “I’ve been told you need time for the last portion of your stay,” he says. “Thank you for your time, Akechi-kun.”

Akira and Goro stand up from their seats. And with that, it all sinks into the ground. Instead of exploding, the anchor simply vanishes. The dead end recedes into the walls without a sound.

Akira looks at Goro. “I would’ve looked for you faster if I’d known,” he says quietly.

“I don’t blame you for that,” Goro says, shaking his head. “Besides, I didn’t _actually_ die. It was just a bit of momentary drama.”

“Just because something good happens after something bad, it doesn’t mean the something bad didn’t affect you,” Akira insists.

Goro exhales. “I’m aware,” he says. “In any case, we should move on.”

Akira reluctantly lets go of Goro’s hand; it’ll probably be easier to walk without it.

The final set piece, huh. One last thing to do before it’s all over. Akira doesn’t think it’ll be a rough one, not anymore--but he’s still a little nervous. After all they’ve been through, what’s waiting for them at the end?

Around the next turn, they finally see it. 

The center, if Lavenza’s progress reports were accurate. An unassuming little two-story building, brown and cozy, a red-and-white-awning hanging above the door.

And standing in front of it, what Akira was sort of expecting to find here.

Himself. Wearing the same clothes he is now. Yellow eyes crinkle in a small but friendly smile.

The Shadow waves. “Hey,” he says, genially.

“Hello,” Goro says. There’s a hint of wariness in his voice. “I take it you’re the emotional presence Lavenza was talking about?”

“Guilty as charged,” the Shadow says, fiddling with a lock of his hair. “So to speak.”

It’s very strange to see himself just standing there, not even as a reflection, just a physical person he could reach out and touch if he wanted. “She said you weren’t hostile,” Akira says.

The Shadow shakes his head. “I mean, sometimes I was, kind of,” he says. He gives a crooked little smile. “No offense, Goro, but the way you think about me is _complicated.”_

Goro crosses his arms. “Yes, well, that seems to have settled,” he says, a little stiffly. 

The Shadow’s smile brightens. “Yeah,” he says. He looks over at Akira. “Thanks for that, by the way,” he says. “It could’ve gotten pretty nasty here if you hadn’t shaken the place up.”

“No problem?” Akira says, kind of awkwardly.

Goro looks at Leblanc. “Can I ask what the premise of this one is?” he says. “Another performance?”

The Shadow shakes his head again. “No, this one’s one last game,” he says. “I’m not even really involved, I’m just here to set it up for you two. For a while I thought I was going to be all dramatic and mysterious about it and make you figure it out yourselves, but…” He shrugs. “I don’t really feel like doing that. It’s truth or dare.”

Akira raises his eyebrows. “That’s it?” he says.

“Yeah, pretty much,” the Shadow says, nodding. “Ask questions, get answers. Maybe do some dares if you want. It’s up to you.”

“Forgive me for being a little suspicious of what seems _remarkably_ easy,” Goro says coolly. “If this is the core of my Palace, I’d expect it to be considerably less harmless.”

The Shadow rubs the back of his neck. “Well, like I said, he kinda shook things up a bit,” he says.

Akira lets himself feel a little proud of that.

“So, that’s it,” the Shadow says. He gestures towards Leblanc. “Just go in there and do your thing. Get it right, and this place will disappear. You’ll wake up a full member of the physical plane. Not that all your problems will be solved, but at least that one’ll be over.”

“You’ll disappear too, right?” Akira asks. “You’re okay with that?”

The Shadow shrugs one shoulder. “I’m just going back to where I was,” he says. “It’s a lot calmer there, anyway.”

He walks up to Goro. Seems to hesitate a little.

“For better or worse, I’ll always be a part of you,” he says softly. “Even if everything goes horribly wrong someday and the two of you never see each other again, I’ll still be there. Maybe I’ll be a little different, but I’ll always be me. The two of you are so tangled up in each other, nothing could ever get me completely out of your soul.

“Everything that happens to you stays with you, one way or the other. Everything bad, and everything good, too. If it ever feels like the bad is all there is, remember that I’m in here too, okay? I’ll always be here, even if you can’t see me.”

He gives a gentle smile. “But I’m really glad I did get to see you this one time,” he says softly.

And he pulls Goro into his arms, tucks his head over Goro’s shoulder. Closes his eyes and almost seems to melt into him.

After a second, Goro returns the embrace.

Eventually, the Shadow lets go. He smiles and says, “Thanks. That’s it for me. You two have fun.”

As he walks past Akira, he rests his hand on Akira’s shoulder and says, “I don’t need to tell you to look after him. But, you know. Do that.”

“I will,” Akira says. Is it progress, that a part of Goro’s subconscious is saying that? Or is it just that Goro _thinks_ Akira would say that? Akira decides it doesn’t really matter. 

The Shadow waves, and walks past the turn, out of sight.

“I did wonder if you’d be in here somewhere,” Goro says. He’s still staring at where the Shadow was. “I thought at best it would be another embarrassing display of my subconscious, and at worst…well, you heard what it said. Something you would be unable to forgive me for.”

Akira takes Goro’s hand. Squeezes it. “Not everything in your head is a monster,” he says.

Goro gives the barest fraction of a smile. “Perhaps,” he says.

Together, they walk into Leblanc.

The bell jingles overhead. No one else is inside, but the smell of fresh coffee and spices permeates the air. It hasn’t even been a week since Akira was last at the real one, but it still sparks a pang of homesickness.

They take a seat at the counter. It gives a comforting creak.

“So, truth or dare, huh,” Akira says.

“Indeed,” Goro replies. “I suppose I should go first? Truth, then.”

Akira thinks. He doesn’t know if there’s one specific question they’re supposed to stumble across. But there’s no harm in starting with a softball.

“What do you think you want to do with your life when you’re part of society again?” he asks.

Goro blinks. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” he says. “I didn’t have much of a long-term plan before.”

“Yeah, but like, if you could do _anything,_ no restrictions, what would it be?”

Goro purses his lips. “Not police work, certainly,” he says. “Regardless of if I’d be any good at cases I didn’t already know the answers to, I’ve no desire to participate in that system any longer.”

Akira won’t pretend he isn’t a little relieved about that. “College, maybe?” Akira says. “You don’t have to figure out a career right away.”

“Maybe,” Goro says. “I don’t think I’d like to finish high school, however. The other students might start to remember me.” He hesitates. “It…would be nice if Sakura could lend me some help in creating records of my graduation.”

“She’d be happy to,” Akira says honestly.

Goro folds his hands on the counter. “Your turn,” he says.

“Truth,” Akira replies.

“On February 2nd,” Goro says. “Did you think about taking Maruki’s deal?”

The memory of that evening twists in Akira’s stomach. “Yeah,” he says. “If you hadn’t told me not to, I might have.”

Goro exhales. “Part of me wanted you to,” he says quietly. “If you had, I don’t think I would’ve put up a fight.”

Akira briefly wonders what that life would have been like. He wouldn’t have seen any of this, probably never learned anything about Goro’s past at all; probably Goro’s past would’ve been rewritten anyway. That Goro would be so much happier, so much easier.

Easier isn’t better. Akira likes this Goro just fine.

“But I didn’t,” Akira says. “Your turn.”

“Truth,” Goro says. 

This one’s a little harder. A lot harder. But it feels like something Akira has to ask. “Do you really want to hurt me?” he asks.

Goro’s eyes drop to the counter.

“…sometimes,” he says quietly. “Before Okumura’s death, it was more of an idle fantasy. Not very elaborate. But after I knew I had to kill you, it got uglier. I thought it would stop after you died, but even then, I couldn’t get it out of my head. And even now, when I look at you, I sometimes wonder what you would look like covered in bruises.”

Akira can’t help it; his mouth twitches as he fails to completely hold back a small laugh.

Goro looks at him. “You can’t possibly find this funny,” he says.

Akira waves. “No, it’s just…same,” he says.

Goro’s eyebrows pinch together. “Pardon?”

“That’s like, the exact same progression I had,” Akira says. “Mild at first, got worse in November. You know, when I was like fourteen I used to bite my arm while I was jacking off? Eventually I stopped because it always felt like I was doing something I shouldn’t have. I think experiencing actual danger kind of made all that go haywire. Whoops, almost got murdered by a cute guy, guess what’s a lot harder to repress now.”

“Whoops,” Goro says flatly.

Akira bats at his shoulder. “My point is, you really don’t have to worry about that,” he says. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe not actual stabbing, but uh, bruises sounds…not bad?”

Maybe not on his face. It’d be hard to explain to people.

Although if they could ever just, go on a vacation somewhere isolated, stay for a couple weeks, then on the first few days Goro could mark him up all over and no one would know--

 _Not the time,_ Akira tells himself, and shoves that line of thought into the part of his mind labeled ‘later’.

Goro looks a lot like he did when they were together last night: like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

“Anyway,” Akira says, because this is rapidly descending into something unproductive, “my turn, right?” He grins. “I’m feeling dare, actually.”

He’s not sure exactly what he’s expecting, but it works out pretty well when Goro says, a little hesitantly, “Kiss me.”

He could make some comment about how he’s done plenty of that already today, but Goro asking for it makes butterflies bloom in his stomach. So without saying anything, he takes Goro’s face in his hand, closes his eyes, and leans in to brush their lips together.

He thinks he could do this a thousand times and still not get tired of it.

Akira only meant it to be a few seconds, but his other arm slips around Goro’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Goro makes a soft sound at that, rests a hand at the back of Akira’s neck, parts his lips.

The angle’s awkward, preventing them from getting completely against each other. But that hardly seems to matter when he can still explore Goro’s mouth with his tongue, still chase the taste of him, feel his warmth, his solid presence in Akira’s arms.

 _I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy,_ Akira thinks. _I’ll make sure you’re never scared and alone again. I saved the world twice, and finally, finally, I can save you._

Eventually, they have to pull apart. There’s a soft look in Goro’s eyes that makes Akira want to kiss him again. But they’ll have plenty of time for that later; years and years of time, the rest of their lives.

“Truth,” Goro whispers.

Akira thinks. “Can I call you my boyfriend?” he asks.

He’s sort of hoping Goro will blush, because he hasn’t seen it before and he’s curious what it looks like. But instead that soft look just seems to permeate Goro’s entire body, and he says, quietly, “I’d like that.”

Akira really wants to kiss him again, so he does.

And afterwards he says, “Truth.”

Goro seems to hesitate. He doesn’t quite meet Akira’s eyes as he says, “What do you like about me?”

Akira tries not to take more than a moment to put his thoughts together.

“One of your Shadows said you experienced enough rage to awaken a Persona twice,” he says. “But Personas aren’t born from blind anger. They awaken because you see injustice and want to tear it apart. Even if other people exploited it, at its core, it was always about wanting justice so badly you’d open up your soul to get it. And _that,_ you experienced twice. You’re the only person in the world who’s been strong enough to do that.”

Goro listens in silence. The soft look hasn’t gone away yet.

“Before I found out who you were, I liked you because I thought you were like us,” Akira continues. “Then I realized you _were_ us, if we’d been alone. It’s hard to think of you as unforgivable when I know if I’d been in your position, I probably wouldn’t have been any better.

“And you’re really smart, when you’re not stuck in a blind spot,” Akira says. “You’re funnier than you think you are. You’re also super hot, but you probably don’t need me to tell you that.”

A corner of Goro’s mouth twitches.

Akira holds out his hands. “Mix all that together and you get one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met,” he says. “How could I _not_ like you?” 

A small part of him whispers that maybe at this point he doesn’t mean ‘like’ anymore.

Akira pauses. “Also, your original spirit of rebellion is a prince with a lightsaber, and that’s adorable.”

Goro rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t look at all unhappy. “God, you’re insufferable,” he says.

“Whatever, you love it,” Akira says with a cheesy grin.

Goro gives a smile much softer and fonder than any Akira’s ever seen on him. “Perhaps I do,” he says softly.

And silently, slowly, everything around them starts to crumble.

The shelves, the counter, the booths. The walls and floor, revealing an empty, endless white expanse. The stools they’re sitting on, leaving them standing on nothing. Everything but them falls away.

Goro puts his palm on his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. “Fucking _metaphors,”_ he mutters.

It takes Akira a second to get it. “Goro,” he says, delighted. “Goro did I just steal your heart.”

Goro opens his eyes with a baleful expression. “Don’t look so proud of yourself, you were most of the way there already,” he says.

Akira can’t help it; he pulls Goro into a nearly backbreaking hug. “I like you _so much,”_ he says into Goro’s ear. “I’ll keep saying it forever if you need me to. Or even if you don’t, because I really like saying it. We’re going to figure everything out. What you need, you and me, everything. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Okay,” Goro says softly, and buries his face in Akira’s neck, and even if they weren’t literally the only things in the world right now, Akira’s sure it would feel like it.

Eventually, though, Akira hears the sound of someone clearing their throat.

He and Goro separate, though not by much, and see Lavenza standing several feet away from them. 

“I do not wish to interrupt,” she says delicately. “But it would be best if you left now. This place will disappear shortly.”

“Yeah, okay,” Akira says. Goro nods. “Will you still be around later?”

Lavenza shakes her head. “My duty here is done,” she says. “It was a pleasure to help you with this stage of your journey, but for now, I must depart. Goodbye, my Tricksters. May the rest of your days be glorious.” And she bows, and in a blue shimmer, disappears.

Akira closes his eyes.

When he opens them, the white is replaced by early morning sun pouring through the window, but Goro is still warm and solid in his arms.

“Good morning,” Akira says for the second day in a row, for what he hopes is the second of more days than he can count.

And this time, Goro smiles when he says it back.

\---

**Akira has sent an image.**

**Akira:** I don’t know if Futaba’s been keeping you up to date, but can you tell me how many people are in this picture?  
**Sojiro:** What the god damn hell is going on?  
**Akira:** Oh so she hasn’t  
**Akira:** Well uh  
**Akira:** Is that a ‘two’

\---

Akira’s parents barely seem to notice when he tells them he’s going back to Tokyo for the day.

“Don’t spend too much money there,” his mom says absently, and that’s that.

It does take a little while before they both leave the house and it’s safe for Goro to come downstairs, but it happens eventually, and then--Goro’s walked on this road twice a day for the past five days, but it’s the first time he’s done so while _visible._

Every time someone glances their way, Akira has a moment of _do they recognize him?_ But they never seem to.

“Did you even have many fans out in the sticks?” Akira asks, while they walk. “I don’t remember anyone in my school talking about you.”

Goro shrugs. “I really wouldn’t know,” he says. “I rarely went to the country, and if any of my fans in Tokyo told me where they were from, I don’t remember it.”

But he still looks a little nervous, whenever someone gets within view.

One girl stares just a second too long. Akira tenses--but realizes she’s from his school, and probably just wondering if that weird Kurusu has a friend visiting from the big city.

In fact, there’s not even any real confirmation that anyone sees Goro at all until they get to the train station and the ticket lady says, “So, where are you two headed?”

Akira suppresses a smile and buys two tickets to Tokyo.

\---

It’s a long train ride.

It’s also relatively early on a Sunday, so nobody notices if they spend most of it holding hands.

Except Morgana, who mostly looks out the window anyway, already becoming inured to it.

\---

The last time Akira took the long train ride to Tokyo, Sojiro met him at the station. It’s an echo of that, almost--but last time he was alone in multiple ways, and Sojiro was impatient and irritable, and he’d gone through the whole thing with almost a dissociated dread. 

So fuck that, basically.

 _Now_ he’s got friends in the double digits, and Sojiro’s waiting with Futaba, the former looking slightly bewildered but not unhappy and the latter looking delighted even in a crowd, and his hand is still warm from Goro’s, and the high might have settled a bit but it perks right back up.

“You could’ve given me more notice,” Sojiro grumbles. “I’ll have to open the store late.”

“No one ever comes this early anyway,” Futaba says, and immediately zeroes in on Goro. “So! You’re not dead, huh?”

Goro gives a dry smile. “It would seem death keeps losing its grip on me,” he says.

“Well, good, Akira was all mopey when he got back from prison and I can’t believe it took me this long to figure out why,” Futaba replies. “Now c’mon, c’mon! The attic’s barely changed, I think Sojiro keeps putting it off because he’s hoping Akira’ll come back for Golden Week.”

Sojiro puts up a token and entirely halfhearted protest as they get in the car.

Akira _was_ planning to come back. And now he’ll probably come back as many weekends as he can afford, anyway.

“Futaba gave me the basic rundown this morning,” Sojiro says, during some traffic. “You can stay until you get your own place, but I’ll be honest, kid, I’m hoping that’ll be sooner rather than later.”

Akira holds back a wince. Ah. Right. Not everyone is Sumire.

“That is my hope as well,” Goro says smoothly. It doesn’t escape Akira’s notice that he’s slipping into a less cloying variation of the Detective Prince. “I’m afraid I’ve missed entrance exams for any spring semester, but with luck I’ll be able to acquire some form of employment to pay for an apartment until the fall.”

Sojiro raises an eyebrow. “Not worried about getting in in the first place?” he asks.

Goro smiles. “Not at all,” he says.

Akira kind of wants to kiss him again.

He _is_ going to tell everyone about them, eventually--probably relatively soon. And Futaba’s definitely going to figure it out. But not today.

When they finally arrive at Leblanc, Akira looks down at Morgana and says, “Hey, do you mind staying with Futaba for a while today?”

Morgana hops out of the bag and lands on the ground. “I was about to suggest it myself,” he says primly. Akira tries to telepathically project _please don’t tell her yet._ He doesn’t know if it worked, but at least Morgana doesn’t say anything _now,_ even though Futaba’s looking a little curious.

The real Leblanc looks and smells exactly like the cognitive one did. Akira feels a little warm at the thought that Goro’s memory of it was that strong.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Sojiro says, flipping the CLOSED sign over after they walk inside. “And keep it quiet. Though I guess you managed it pretty well the last year, so I don’t really need to tell you.”

“It’s a useful reminder,” Goro says politely, and Akira keeps an absolutely straight face.

The attic looks different with all Akira’s stuff gone. Cleaner than it was when he first arrived, yes, but after a year spent gathering souvenirs and tools and various accoutrements, he got used to it looking like an actual living space. Now all the furniture is still there, but it looks…empty. And Goro’s probably not going to fill it up with anything any time soon, if ever.

But the bed is still made, and Goro sits down on it with a sigh. “This is all going very quickly,” he says. “I know there’s no point in dawdling, but it still seems like we’re rushing, somehow.”

Akira sits down next to him. “Yeah,” he says. “We kinda got into a routine, I think. And now it’s all different. But good different, right?”

Goro smiles. “Right,” he says.

And their faces are very close, and Akira’s half a second away from kissing Goro again before Goro does it first.

He relaxes into it immediately, enjoys slow, lazy kisses until Goro pulls back and murmurs, “There really is no door to this room, is there.”

“Yeah,” Akira says heavily. “A lot of my fantasies just kind of ignored that.”

Goro pulls back farther, looks up at the ceiling. “Besides, despite the relatively early hour, I find myself tired,” he says. “I don’t think I’m up for much.”

“It’s been a long week,” Akira says. “I don’t really have any immediate plans, anyway. A nap sounds kind of nice.” Futaba already knows to get started on the ID stuff. And now that Goro’s mentioned it, he’s a little tired too.

Goro looks down at the bed. “I assume your fantasies also had this wider and more comfortable?” he says.

Akira nods. “But it’s not that bad, really. I slept on it for a year and my back didn’t hurt _that_ much.”

“Very encouraging,” Goro says drily. Still, he shifts to lie down on his side. Akira follows suit.

“Last year, I expected I’d be dead shortly after the election,” Goro says quietly. “This year, I thought I’d barely make it to February. It’s almost hard to picture a life without any deadlines.”

Akira brushes a lock of hair behind Goro’s ear. “Get used to it,” he says.

Goro smiles. “I’ll try,” he murmurs.

Akira feels his eyes starting to close. He wraps an arm around Goro, pulling him closer. Goro does the same.

“You understand this is going to be difficult,” Goro says quietly. “Yesterday and today were good days, but I can’t guarantee all of them will be.”

Akira’s thought about it plenty, and he always comes up with the same conclusion. “I know,” he says, and presses a brief kiss to Goro’s mouth. “Still worth it.”

Goro’s eyelids drift lower. “You say that so confidently,” he says.

“I saved the world twice, I can handle having a boyfriend with a weird brain,” Akira says. He rests his forehead against Goro’s. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a lot to do later.”

The last thing Akira sees before he closes his eyes is the slight smile on Goro’s face. “I suppose I can trust you on that,” Goro murmurs.

The world is waiting for them, big and complicated and full of things they might not know how to handle. There’s so much work that has to be done before they can get to any semblance of normalcy, if that’s even possible. 

But for now, they can rest, and dream of nothing but warmth and each other’s arms.

The second step can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest fic I've ever written, and the second multi-chapter I've ever completed without having written all of it before uploading, and I doubt I would've been able to finish it without all the lovely support I've gotten. Thank you so much for reading! The next fic is a spicy coda, if you were hoping this one would have more of that.
> 
> Check out this amazing fanart!  
> [Blazhy](https://blazhydoodles.tumblr.com/post/625119047929020417/i-trust-you-for-futuresoon-twittertumblr-of-a)  
> [Muni](https://twitter.com/munidraws/status/1309960105371332627)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [Tumblr](https://futuresoon.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/futuresoonest).


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